A Masquerade of Mysteries & Music
by Shadowplay27
Summary: Arabella Stevens is a young singer going by the stage name of Blair Ravenna and has been performing for years, but it isn't the life she wants. When she considers leaving this life, her life becomes threatened and she feels the only person who can help her is Sherlock Holmes. Can he save her and expose the criminal behind these deadly threats? Sherlock/OC
1. Chapter 1

_This is my second Sherlock fanfic story, I do not own any of the characters but Arabella is a character of my own creation. Enjoy!_

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All seemed to be incredibly quiet for a Monday morning in London. While people had already gone off to work and were leading their normal lives at the start of the week, there was one man who was not among them. In a flat on Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes stared out the window at the street below. Being the world's only consulting detective he should be experimenting, or dealing with some new case. But there was nothing, nothing which would pique his interest at this point and it irritated him to no end. Ever since his return after his 'suicide' things were different. It took ages to rebuild his image and to regain the trust of those around him, especially his flat mate John Watson, who had been absolutely furious with him for disappearing for three years after supposedly jumping off the roof of St. Bart's to his death. But it had been to save lives. Thankfully they were on more amiable terms now.

While Sherlock stared out the window, John sat in his chair scanning through the newspaper looking for anything which might catch the interest of his bored flat mate who was almost borderline desperate for a case. When Sherlock became bored he could be rather...unpredictable. Shooting a gun at the wall for example, becoming more irritable than ever, there was no telling what he might do. He was very eccentric, his mind thought differently than others and it made people think he was weird, even earning him the nickname 'Freak'.

"Nothing?" he asked.

John shook his head. "I'm afraid not, the only thing which seems to be all over the news and the Web is that upcoming set of shows featuring that young singer, Blair Ravenna."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and groaned. "Oh please, how is that newsworthy?"

"Well she's a young singer with a very talented voice, almost operatic despite the fact that she's technically a rock star, she's very beautiful, and this is her first time touring outside of the United States. London is the final stop, so of course her fans would be excited."

Holmes walked over to his friend and looked down at the article about the singer and the image of her. Blair wore all black like a Goth, her eyes were adorned with heavy black eye makeup, her lips painted with garnet red, her dark auburn hair was long and the lower section of it ( a good six inches) was dyed a bright reddish coral color. How was _that_ considered attractive?

Groaning again Sherlock walked back to the window. "How does that sort of look attract anybody?"

John shook his head. "I doubt she looks like that off stage. It's likely just a look for when she performs. Lots of artists do that."

"If you can even call them that," Sherlock replied with an irritated tone. "None of what these so-called 'artists' do is Art. It's just people who can't sing, wear ridiculous outfits and play their 'music' so loud and badly. Now Mozart, Bach, Beethoven, those are true artists."

John sighed, it seemed that Sherlock was becoming a time bomb and it was just moments before he would snap and do something reckless unless a solution to his boredom was found.

"You're entitled to your opinion, Sherlock. But it doesn't change the situation, you don't have a case right now. Nothing is going on. Why don't you try composing something on your violin and be productive instead of staring out the window all day?"

Sherlock then noticed a young lady who was walking down the sidewalk and headed toward the door to their flat. Most likely a client. Watching her he noticed that she appeared nervous by the way she looked around before ringing the doorbell. Oh yes, definitely a client. This could get interesting.

"Looks like I won't have to," Sherlock said after the doorbell had rung. "Would you be so kind as to answer it John? I need to change."

Sherlock had been lounging in his pajamas and blue robe that morning, hardly the attire to wear in the presence of a lady and client. As Sherlock went toward his bedroom, John quickly rushed downstairs to answer the door before the land lady Mrs. Hudson would have to rush to get it.

Opening the door John found a very lovely looking young lady. She had long red hair, her eyes were concealed behind a pair of sunglasses, her lips were full and had a light shade of pink lipstick. She wore black heels, a white skirt with a black scroll pattern all over it, and a black jacket. Her left hand was concealed beneath black leather gloves and it clutched the strap of her bag which was on her shoulder.

"Hello," John greeted. "Can I help you?"

"Doctor Watson, is it not?" she asked politely.

He nodded. "Yes, that is me."

"If it would not trouble you, I was hoping to speak with you and your colleague Sherlock Holmes about a very urgent matter."

John nodded. "Yes, of course come right in," he said holding the door open for her.

The woman entered before removing her sunglasses, revealing her golden amber eyes, and her gloves before slipping them into her bag. She followed him up the stairs into the flat. Sherlock had not yet emerged from his bedroom. Noting how warm it was in the flat compared to the outside, the woman removed her jacket revealing the black blouse she wore beneath it. John took her jacket and hung it for her, like a gentleman.

"Sherlock will be joining us momentarily, can I get you anything?" John asked.

She shook her head. "No, thank you, Doctor Watson."

He smiled a very charming smile. "Please, just call me John."

Soon the sound of footsteps came down the hallway toward the room where John and the young lady were standing. Sherlock was now dressed and prepared to meet with the client.

"Ah, Sherlock," John said. "We have a client."

"Yes I can see that," he responded as he glanced at the young lady before him, a few deductions running through his brilliant mind.

She turned to him. "Mister Holmes, it's a pleasure to meet you," she said holding out her hand.

Sherlock took her delicate hand in his own, politely shaking it. "And you, Miss..."

"Belle. My name is Belle," she simply stated.

Just a first name, Sherlock found this interesting. He gestured toward the chair in front of his own for her to sit and discuss the case she had brought to them. Belle sat down and crossed her legs at the ankle and kept very good posture, like a truly well mannered young lady. It had been a long time since Sherlock had seen such a well mannered woman. He and John both sat down.

"So Belle, you have something you wish to discuss with myself and John. You seem quite nervous so it must be something very important."

Belle swallowed a bit, a little upset that it was apparently obvious that she was nervous. "Yes, it is."

"Then do explain everything clearly to us and don't be boring," he told her.

John sent his friend a look when he said that. Even Belle's eyebrows drew a bit closer in confusion when he said that. Clearing her throat she prepared her thoughts and hoped she could convey them clearly.

"Well, the reason I have come here today is because I fear that my life is in danger. For the past five years now, I have been working in a profession which has been...for the most part enjoyable, however as of late I have been thinking of changing my career. I have been considering this, more so now because things have become...terrifying. I have been sent disturbing threats, ones which have been telling me that if I dare to leave, then something very bad will happen. The first time it happened, I didn't think too much of it, but then they became more frequent and I fear that they will only get worse. I now feel trapped and I don't have any idea who is behind these awful threats or what they are capable of."

"So you hope that we can figure out who it is," John stated.

She nodded. "Yes."

Sherlock leaned forward a little. "In that case, then I want you to start at the beginning and provide all the facts, Miss Stevens."

John looked at Sherlock with a confused look on his face. Belle's eyes widened a bit and her porcelain toned skin seemed to pale just slightly.

"How...how did you..." she began.

Sherlock smirked slightly. "I know a wig when I see one. And you weren't quite careful enough to mask your true identity, Arabella Stevens, or should I say Blair Ravenna."

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**As I mentioned, this is my second Sherlock fanfiction. I'm hoping this one will be as enjoyable as my first one. As of now I have a very good idea of how this story will go overall, but I am also open to ideas to help develop the plot. Any feedback is really appreciated! Thanks for reading!**


	2. Arabella

The shock on the young woman's face was extremely evident. Her amber eyes were wide, her skin had gone a shade paler, almost bordering on ghostly, her jaw had dropped a little, and her body had gone stiff as if beginning to petrify. Sherlock Holmes had figured her out, seeing past the attempted disguise she had created last minute to try and hide her identity. Or both of her identities. So he really was as good as he was said to be.

Finally closing her mouth and swallowing, Arabella gently reached up to the red wig she had worn and slipped it off before removing a hair clip at the back of her head which allowed her pinned back ponytail holding her dark auburn hair to fall over her right shoulder and revealing the coral section of her hair. John's own eyes widened when she revealed her hair, thus revealing who she really was. To him she certainly looked prettier with her natural hair color. She stuffed the wig into her bag, her eyes staring at the floor as her pale cheeks were now becoming slightly pink in embarrassment.

"Yes...you've figured out who I really am," she quietly replied before raising her glance towards the man in front of her.

Sherlock smirked again. "It was not that difficult to figure out, Miss Stevens. Your name which you provided was quite close to your real name 'Arabella' thus providing a nickname. Usually one would give their first and last name, however in your case you chose to not use one in hopes that it would further keep your identity hidden. As I said I noticed the wig right away, and while you are not wearing your stage makeup, in fact you are barely wearing any cosmetics at all, your face is all over the London papers, it would take someone very observant to recognize your features."

Arabella knew that he was correct and nodded. "Forgive me, Mister Holmes. You must understand, I had to attempt to hide my identity from the world as no one knows that I am here. I am constantly looked after and I needed to see you without anyone knowing."

Sherlock sat back leisurely in his chair, evidently pleased that he had been right. "Of course, you are quite popular and you wouldn't want it in the headlines that you are consulting a detective over a matter which you deem dangerous."

"Indeed I do not want anyone to know, although I would hope that you would not speak to anyone about this meeting."

"I will not."

Arabella nodded. "Well, as I said before my situation has become one of life and death, at least I fear that it will be that way."

Sherlock brought his fingertips together, barely touching his chin, as his elbows rested upon the arms of his chair. "Do start from the beginning then, and this time do not attempt to hide any details for I will know if you do."

Heeding his warning, Arabella started over again. "Five years ago I was approached in Indiana to sign with a record company after my talent for singing had been noticed. Everything started out fine, it was a very big adjustment to go straight out of being a student at a university to becoming a singer on stage before thousands of people. As more and more people listened, the more popular and successful I became. I was immensely happy that I was blessed with this, but to be honest I was not truly happy. So many things didn't work out as I had hoped. I had to leave my life as Arabella Stevens behind and become this other person, Blair Ravenna, to suit the music which I was singing to.

"As of late I guess you could say I have been having a change of heart, desiring to leave this profession. I wish to pursue other things, things which I cannot do if I am leading this life. When I spoke of this to some people they thought I was crazy to want to leave such a life, my manager Rick Barton has tried to talk me out of it because he thinks I am capable of still doing so much in this life I am leading now, but he has been the one understanding person in can confide in He was the one who listened to me sing and offered me the opportunity to become a singer. His nephew was my boyfriend at the time and persuaded him to hear me sing.

"After I had spoken of this desire a month ago...terrible things began to happen. I had been sent a strange message, one which had letters and words clipped out of magazines and formed into a letter which told me that if I dared to quit that something bad would happen to me. At first I dismissed it, thinking that it was just a random prank, but such messages kept appearing in my dressing rooms and being slipped under the door of my hotel rooms."

John had been making notes as Arabella spoke. "And you never saw who did this."

She shook her head. "A few times I waited to see if one would be delivered while I was in the room, but this person seems to know when I am there and when I am not. Sometimes the notes are slipped under the door when I am fast asleep."

"So why come to me? Why not consult the police and say you have a stalker?" Sherlock questioned.

Arabella looked back to him. "I am constantly traveling country to country right now, and I didn't want this to be made known in fears that something would happen. Some of the notes even warned about consulting police about this. However, I have heard of your reputation and since I am in London and this is the end of my tour I hoped that you would be able to help me."

Unexpectedly his eyes narrowed a bit, as he kept his emotionless visage. "Don't you usually have bodyguards you could trust to keep you safe?"

"Of course, but who says that even they can be trusted?" she replied.

This seemed to please him by the way his lips faintly curled. "Clever girl. Yet not so clever when it came to deciding this was the life you had intended to lead."

Her brow furrowed a bit, taken aback by this. "What do you mean?"

"I can deduce many things about you, Miss Stevens. I don't even have to consult what the papers have said about you. You're American, somewhere from the Midwest judging by your accent, in fact you were born and raised in rural Indiana, daughter of a farmer. You studied vocal performance for a significant number of years if not your entire life, and you pursued your university studies in Music, as it is evident that you have been vocally trained from the way you pronounce certain words and vowels. And it was during the time that you were in school that was when you got your big break. You had been discovered during a performance, your manager liked your voice very much and provided you with an offer you apparently couldn't refuse. You said five years you have been in this profession, likely you started your career as a performer upon graduating as you are about twenty-six years old. Now, you had mentioned that things started out fine but you had to leave things behind, changing your identity. You were well aware of what would happen no doubt, and yet you still took on this opportunity. Now you're regretting it and you want to back out, and now you're worried because of threatening messages sent to you that something bad will happen."

Arabella swallowed again, becoming very uneasy with the way he was speaking. "Well, yes but-"

"You want us to discover who is sending these messages before something bad occurs. Who says it might end there? You could always have a loyal fan who becomes enraged that you want to quit, and what happens if more threats come to you? You never thought about the consequences of your choice to enter this life did you? You must have been so eager to take that chance at fame but now you regret it."

Her amber eyes were welling up with tears, she was feeling horrible blows to her heart as he said those things. "I'm afraid, Mister Holmes, that you're absolutely wrong."

John's eyes widened a bit when Arabella made this claim. He looked to his friend, Sherlock stared back at her with a look combining a bit of shock and anger. To hear that Sherlock was wrong...that was almost...well it was something that very rarely happened.

"Wrong?" Sherlock hissed. "What do you mean 'wrong'?"

"I mean that you got a few of the facts wrong about me. Yes, I am the daughter of a farmer from Indiana. I did study Music when I was attending college, and it was during a performance that my talent had been noticed. My ex-boyfriend, Todd, had his uncle attend and he felt that I had potential to become a famous singer. While it was a great opportunity for me, I did not jump at it right away. My father owned a farm which was quite extensive and I helped him maintain it, with the help of a few neighbors. I did not want to leave him alone, not like my mother who walked out on both of us when I was seven, leaving him to raise me my whole life. Todd urged me to take the chance, but my father didn't like the fact that they were trying to make me a different kind of singer and even went to Rick and told him off. Before I could tell them no, my father died from a fatal asthma attack...he never got to his medication in time and no one was at the house with him. After that, I had to make a very important decision. I couldn't manage the farm by myself, and it brought too many painful memories. I sold the farm, took the offer and moved away. It was all that I had, and I hoped that somehow things would change for the better. The truth is and remains, I was never truly happy taking the offer...and I'm still not happy. I feel like I have made a mistake and I take responsibility for it, but I never dreamed that my desire to change my life would lead to threats. I am trapped in this life I never really wanted but accepted anyway, and I am nearly desperate for a way out. But someone is threatening my life."

Sherlock's angered look seemed to soften just slightly when she explained. So he had been wrong that she willingly took the offer because of the wonderful things it would bring. She had felt she had no choice, having nothing left in her life she chose to take the offer reluctantly. He hadn't anticipated that. At first he pegged her to be one of those young ladies who was naive and jumped at a dream opportunity without thinking things through. But Arabella had thought things through upon losing her father.

One single tear managed to escape her eye and proceed to stream down her cheek. She quickly brushed it away and swallowed again to try and rid herself of the painful lump growing in the back of her throat.

"Please, Mister Holmes I beg of you...please, can't you help me and find out who is behind these threats?"

Sherlock sat back in his chair in his leisurely state once more. He was no longer angered by the fact that he had been wrong about her.

"Do you have any of these letters which you were sent?" he asked.

Arabella nodded and immediately pulled out a folder from her bag. "I have a few of them, I have the others back at my hotel room hidden away. I also have included a photograph I took of the most recent threat which I had been sent because it was more than a letter."

Taking the folder from her hands, Sherlock opened it and looked over the contents. Just as she had said, there were letters with cut words and letters from magazines with threatening messages. It was indeed the photograph which got his attention. Pulling it out he looked at it carefully. It showed a white box with wilted and torn up roses, splattered with a red liquid to appear like blood. The letter which had accompanied that very disturbing threat was very direct.

_If you dare speak to anyone again about your desire to walk away from this life, the consequences will be fatal._

"Did you speak to anyone recently about your thoughts of leaving this profession?" he asked.

Arabella nodded. "I casually mentioned it to Heather, she does all of my makeup. She noticed I was looking stressed about something and offered to talk things out with me. I never said that I really desired to leave, I said it was just a feeling that I might want to do more with my life. No fan could have known this because she and I were in my dressing room alone, and furthermore she has never given me any reason to believe that she would divulge this private information to anyone else."

Sherlock looked over the contents she had presented him with. He could tell she was not lying about anything she had told him, and that she was very afraid for her safety. It would seem that she indeed had much to worry about.

"Very well, Miss Stevens. I will take the case," he announced.

Her saddened eyes brightened up a bit when he said this, relief swept over her like a tidal wave. "You will? Oh, thank you, Mister Holmes. Thank you."

He looked back at her. "If you wouldn't mind, I would like to keep these letters and perform a couple of experiments on them."

She nodded. "Of course, whatever you think is best."

Sherlock nodded and closed the folder. "You mentioned that you had other letters at your hotel room, and I would believe you still have the box with the roses."

"Yes. That one was left in my dressing room just yesterday, which made me come to you right away."

"I would like to see them as well tomorrow, if it would not be a problem."

Arabella nodded. "Certainly. I will not be occupied in the morning," she said before taking out a small notepad and pen and beginning to write. "Here's the hotel and room number where I am staying, along with my cell phone number just incase you need to reach me."

She handed the slip of paper over to him.

"Good. Expect John and I around nine in the morning."

"Okay, that's perfect. Thank you both for your time," she said as she stood up.

Sherlock and John stood up as well.

"If anything else comes up, do not hesitate to let us know," John said as he shook her hand.

"I won't. I place all my trust in you both right now."

Sherlock shook her hand again. "We will see you tomorrow."

She nodded. "Again, thank you. I appreciate it."

With that Arabella departed from the sitting room and walked down the stairs, disappearing from their sight. Sherlock left the folder upon the table where John had been sitting throughout the conversation with Arabella.

"Poor thing," John said. "She made a decision which she never wanted to make and now it's left her with regret and threats."

"Yes. The price of fame and fortune."

John looked through the letters himself, seeing the simple but unnerving threats. "You believed she had blindly accepted to become this famous singer. That she accepted an offer which she couldn't refuse because it was through her then boyfriend and because she would become rich after being a simple farm girl."

Sherlock's face showed no reaction to those words. "She wanted to become a singer, and now she has what she wanted. But apparently, it would seem that she did not make her choice so blindly."

John smirked. "You were wrong. You misjudged her with an incorrect deduction."

Walking over to the window again, Sherlock looked out upon Baker Street again, watching as Arabella departed from 221B wearing that red haired wig once more to conceal her identity.

"A slight miscalculation, it won't happen again," he declared flatly.

Sherlock watched Arabella as she walked in the direction of her hotel. What he would not admit to John was that this young woman really was not what he had thought she would be. Arabella Stevens was nothing like the woman Blair Ravenna that she had been coached, groomed and tailored to be.

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**Hey everyone! I had a bit of a burst of writing inspiration so I just kept writing and figured I would post this second chapter right away. I really hope it was enjoyable! Thank you to those of you who who have favorited and followed this story thus far, I really appreciate it! And please comment! :) **


	3. The Threats

Between the time when Arabella had met with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson and the following morning felt like torture for her. Thankfully no one had been aware of her visit to Baker Street in disguise, nothing had been scheduled for her so she had that entire day to herself. What was agonizing was the wait for when she would be expecting them to arrive, hopefully with some sort of information regarding who might be behind all of the threats, after all Sherlock had said he intended to perform experiments on them. Arabella felt that she was entering some sort of nightmare, she hoped that threats were all she needed to worry about and not her safety or anyone else's.

Sleep was something she truly valued, especially when her life was so incredibly busy and she could manage to get all of the sleep she could. However during the night she found herself constantly waking and falling back asleep with no real reason for her waking in the first place. Arabella would look about her spacious hotel room, searching through the dark shadows for a possible intruder, even for something to have been slipped under her door. Nothing. In a way she felt as if she might be losing her mind with worry. She felt a bit at ease knowing that she had Sherlock Holmes helping her, but still she was on her own and she was the recipient of such cruel threats. And to top it all off, she wanted out of this life but felt trapped. No one took her desire seriously, and there was no one she felt she could confide in fully.

When the sun finally rose, light streaming into her room, Arabella got out of bed and got dressed in her black leggings, sky blue tank top, and her white hoodie. It was still rather early, she still had a few hours before Sherlock and John were due to arrive. Her appetite had not yet risen, which made her wonder what she could possibly do until nine. Soon she just decided to occupy herself by giving herself a pedicure painting her nails with a deep red, never caring for any of those bizarre neon colors out there. After that she just listened to her iPod to some classical music, what her music predominantly was on her player. She could just easily meditate by listening to the music composed by famous composers like Beethoven, Mozart, Debussy and Vivaldi. It allowed her to slip away from the world she was in to a more comforting one where she felt more like herself.

Later on she ordered a small breakfast, still not feeling very hungry but deciding that it was best that she had something in her stomach over nothing. It didn't take long for room service to bring it up. Arabella ate by herself and continuously wondered where things would be going from here. If Sherlock was able to figure out something which would indicate who the individual was who was sending her these threats, then her life would be much easier and a little less stressful. Then again, she would then be faced once again with the burning question which had been lingering in her mind: Should she quit? In so many ways she wanted to say yes, but this time around she needed to figure it out for herself and decide if it was the best thing for her to do and how to go about it. No one should influence her decision, so many people were already trying to tell her not to give up on this life, but she was certain that she wanted to. But first things first, she had to be rid of the person who was threatening her.

At the clock neared nine, Arabella had finished her breakfast and room service had taken everything. Her heart began beating in anticipation for the arrival of Sherlock and John, she was hoping that they would have something good to tell her, something which could put her mind at ease, if at least for a little while. She knew it was not a good idea to dwell upon this troubling subject for so long, building up a tremendous amount of anxiety within her, but she couldn't help it. According to the most recent note, something very bad would happen if she spoke to another person about her desire to leave her profession.

Nine o'clock on the dot there was a knock on her door. Arabella jumped up from her chair where she sat and watched the minutes tick on by on the clock beside her bed. Opening the door she found Sherlock and John there, just as she had hoped it would be.

"Morning," she said holding the door open a bit more for them to enter. "Please come in."

The two men entered her room. Arabella quickly glanced down both ends of the long hotel hallway finding no one there. Plenty of the other people who worked her shows were on this floor, and she did not want them to know that she had London's consulting detective here. It might alert the person who was threatening her that she was having him or her investigated. Closing her door she walked back into the room.

"You apparently don't trust your own people," Sherlock said having noticed how she had been checking the hallway.

She shook her head. "How can I at this point? I have no idea who sent the threats and from the way they are written, it seems like it is someone close to me. Someone who is always near the stage or my rooms."

Sherlock faintly smiled, as if pleased with what she said. "Very good, that is just what I had thought from the nature of the threats which you left with us."

"Speaking of them, did you find anything?" she asked eagerly.

His smile disappeared. "I'm afraid not. I checked each one of them for any sort of defining detail which could possibly point us in the direction of the person who sent them. Watermarks on the paper, any fingerprints on the words cut from the magazines, however it seems that this person has covered up their tracks quite well. The paper used is normal printer paper which one can get at any store unfortunately. Tell me, were any of these threats sealed when you received them?"

Arabella thought about it but shook her head. "I'm afraid not. They were sent in envelopes, however they were not sealed. Whomever sent them simply slipped the flap of the envelope within it."

He nodded, that had been his fear. "And the other threats, may we see them?"

"Yes, of course," she replied.

Arabella walked over to the small closet in the room where she pulled out a second folder along with a long, rectangular white box. She placed all of the items on the table for them to look at. Sherlock immediately began looking through the folder with the other notes which had been sent to her before he intended to look at the most recent threat she had been sent with the roses.

"So, did anything happen between when you saw us and this morning?" John asked her.

She shook her head. "No nothing. No threats, nothing out of the ordinary."

He nodded. "Well that's a good thing."

"It still doesn't dismiss the other threats though," Sherlock chimed in as he began to look at the box with the destroyed roses. "Hmm...once again this person has certainly been ensuring that their work cannot be traced back to them. The box has no distinct labeling or marking, the roses were likely purchased from a florist, destroyed and allowed to wilt before they were sent, and the red splattering is certainly not blood but it appears to be red food coloring. All things which can be purchased almost anywhere. It's as if this individual was worried that you might try to find out who they were."

Arabella swallowed a bit nervously. "So...there's nothing which can shed light on who this person is?"

"I'm afraid not. They're being very careful. When they paste the clippings of letters and words, they are likely wearing gloves to prevent any fingerprints from being left, they use materials which can be found anywhere, and they never use any form of sealing when they send these notes. Oh this person is taking every precaution, as if trying not to get caught even though you were warned not to go to the police or anyone else."

Biting down on her lower lip Arabella allowed all of this to sink in. Just as she feared, nothing had been found, no evidence to give them an idea of who this person was. It seemed as if her nightmare had yet to really begin. Disappointedly she sat down on the foot of her bed.

"What does this mean? You're not going to drop the case are you?" she asked.

"Certainly not," Sherlock declared. "In fact, this person's behavior is intriguing me. The way they are continuing to cover their tracks, and the fact that this person seems to be incredibly close to you, enough to know when you speak of your desire to quit...oh yes, I am not giving up on this case, Miss Stevenson. You may rest assured on that, no need to fret and keep yourself awake at night with worry."

At that, Arabella looked at him questioningly. "How did you know?"

Sherlock smirked slightly. "When I first saw you this morning your eyes were clearly showing signs of fatigue, you only managed to get six...no, more like five hours of sleep total. Normally you would want to get more sleep than that especially when you have a concert tonight, am I right?"

Arabella wasn't exactly sure how much sleep she had gotten the previous night, she thought it would be less than five but she had not kept track.

"I'm just going to go by your judgment, I don't want to argue about that. Yes, I had less than ideal sleep. I'm not sure why, probably nerves regarding these threats. I occasionally checked to see if one had been slipped under my door, but I didn't get the amount of sleep I would have liked."

"Do you think you'll be able to perform tonight?" John asked.

She nodded. "I'm not worried about my fatigue, but yes I will. I honestly have no choice."

John looked over to his flat mate. "With no leads or evidence pointing to a suspect, what do recommend now?"

Sherlock considered this question for a few moments. "The threats have gotten us nowhere as of now, so I believe that it would be best to investigate around the stage area, dressing rooms, any place where this person might be working on these threats, if on site."

Arabella stood up. "If you need all access, I can certainly grant you that. No matter what anyone says, I can ensure that you can go anywhere you need. I have passes which you can use to go backstage and anywhere else you deem necessary to inspect."

He nodded. "Excellent. Will we be able to do this even before the concert?"

"Yes, definitely," she said before walking over to her nightstand and opening a drawer and pulling out two passes and handing them to Sherlock and John. "And if anyone gives you any problems, simply text me and I assure you I will come and resolve the issue."

"That's quite nice of you," John said.

She shook her head. "Believe me, I am willing to do anything to make all of these threats stop. I trust you both, whatever you deem necessary, I will go with it."

Sherlock slipped the pass in his coat pocket, hearing that she was willing to do anything necessary to rid herself of the threats she was receiving was not entirely surprising, but it was good to know that she was willing to be involved and she trusted their judgment. She didn't mind ensuring that they got into every area necessary to investigate. Others wouldn't be quite so helpful.

"Thank you, Miss Stevens. If anything comes to our attention tonight we will let you know. Until then, just continue your routine as usual."

Arabella nodded in response and escorted them to the door as they prepared to leave. She then walked into the hallway with them to say her farewell.

"I hope everything works out for you both tonight," she told them.

"Thank you, Miss Stevens. Good luck on your performance tonight," John replied.

She dropped her gaze a bit but nodded slightly. "Thank you, but right now my mind is anywhere else but focused on that."

Sherlock met her gaze when her amber eyes rose again. "Just leave this to us, but be cautious."

"Cautious about what?" a voice chimed in.

At the sound of this fourth voice, the three of them snapped their heads in the direction from where the voice came from. Walking toward them from the other end of the hall was a tall, young man with spiky blond hair. Arabella stiffened up at the sight of him while an annoyed look crossed her face, both of which Sherlock instantly noticed as he began to deduce in his mind this man who approached them.

"Who are these men, Blair?" he demanded of Arabella.

Her eyes flashed a look of fury towards him. "Firstly, I have a real name which you know very well so give me the courtesy of using it. Secondly, the people who I speak with is absolutely none of your business. You're not my bodyguard, so it's not your job to keep an eye on me."

He smirked. "Maybe it should be my job, considering the fact that I do in fact watch over you at every event and ensure that your pretty face is well lit, along with the rest of you."

Arabella sent a very angry glare at him. "You disgust me. Shouldn't you actually be at the venue working on lighting, as it is your job and final preparations were beginning about half an hour ago?" she snapped.

Rolling his eyes he replied, "I just overslept they can carry on without me for a little bit, I was just up a bit late."

"Trying to gain the affections of a woman, which you apparently succeeded in doing," Sherlock interjected.

Three pairs of eyes looked right at Sherlock when he said that.

"What?" the man snapped.

John sighed. "Oh don't be a show off."

Sherlock ignored John's comment and jumped right into explaining his deductions of this man.

"Slight bags under your eyes, indicating you were up late getting very little sleep. There is a hint of alcohol on your breath, which you neglected to remedy this morning as you overslept without much time to get yourself ready and over to the venue to do your work, also shown by the fact that you rushed to get dressed because your shirt is completely backwards. Now there's the lady you were with, you were with her last night probably at a bar and you convinced her to spend the night with you in your room which is shown because you absolutely reek of her perfume. Probably had to do some convincing considering how your big your ego is which you just showed when you said that suggestive remark, which further leads me to believe that you must be Miss Stevens' ex-boyfriend. Am I wrong?"

The look on Todd's face was absolutely astounding. His jaw had dropped, his face was completely blank, no words came from his mouth. Arabella too was amazed by what Sherlock had said. It completely fit his personality, he had a way with trying to flirt with women and it was something which disgusted her to no end. The fact that he still insisted on trying to woo her after she broke up with him, ending their seven month relationship which she considered to only be casual, made her very angry.

Todd then glared at Sherlock. "Look I don't know who the hell you think you are, but if I ever see you around Arabella again, I'll-"

"What?" Arabella snapped. "As I said Todd, who I spend my time with is none of your business. If I choose to speak with these gentlemen there's nothing you can do about it. So I suggest that you get out of here and get to the venue and do your job before I contact your uncle and tell him the truth about where you've been. Believe me, he will see through any lie you come up with as an explanation and he will believe me over you."

At that Todd shut his mouth and swallowed, apparently taking her threat seriously. With one more glare towards Sherlock he stormed down the hallway and took the staircase instead of waiting for the elevator. When the door had finally closed behind him, Arabella sighed, feeling slightly humiliated.

"I apologize for that rather...unfortunate encounter. Todd can be a very egotistical, vain person, something which led to me breaking up with him."

"Nothing to worry about," Sherlock replied. "Now then, we must be off. We will see you later, Miss Stevens."

With that Sherlock turned and headed down the hallway towards the elevator, John turned to Arabella.

"I hope that his deductions didn't upset you. He's always like that."

She shook her head. "On the contrary, they're quite extraordinary. I've never seen Todd so speechless before."

John smiled a bit. "Interesting. Most people think that his deductions are annoying, usually thinking that he's odd."

Arabella shrugged. "He might be a bit arrogant and unusual, but at least he's smart and he knows what he's doing. That's all I care about right now since he agreed to take my case. I've never met someone so intelligent like that."

"Well, if you spend as much time around him as I have you would see just how eccentric he can be. But yes, he is brilliant and I'm sure that he will solve this for you faster than others would."

She softly laughed. "I'll take your word for it. Thank you for your help as well, John."

John said a polite farewell before walking away to catch up with Sherlock when the elevator arrived. Arabella went back inside her room and leaned back against the door. There was still plenty of time before she had to make her way down to the venue, where she would have to once again become the famous singer which she had grown less and less fond of transforming into. So many people wanted her to permanently remain this alter ego of herself, but Arabella wanted so badly to be rid of it and keep her identity. Never would she allow anyone to take that from her. So much had been taken from her as the price of choosing this path, but her true identity was all she had left and she would fight to keep that.

* * *

**Hey everyone! I hope this update was worth waiting for and I assure you the next one will be very exciting. Thank you so much to everyone who commented, to all of you who read Worlds Apart and are now reading this one, I really hope this one will be just as exciting for you all to experience! Thank you to everyone who has favorited and followed this story, I really appreciate it! :) **


	4. The Fatal Consequence

The woman she saw in the mirror was not her. Arabella sat in her chair in her dressing room as the seconds ticked on by on the clock upon the wall, counting down to the time when she would have to go onstage and perform for all of her fans who were arriving. As she stared at the mirror before her, she saw the face which looked back at her own. Same features, same outfit, but it wasn't her. Arabella was slowly becoming that other person which the world knew her as: Blair Ravenna. Her face had been painted with dark eyeshadow and black eyeliner, her lips adorned with a deep garnet lipstick, almost bordering on black. With her very fair, pale skin such makeup made her look like she was a Goth, which she wasn't. This was all part of this stage life which she felt that she had no choice but to accept, and now she regretted it so much. For the public and all of her fans she had to look this way, as if wearing a mask and having to conceal her true identity. No one really seemed to care about Arabella Stevens, the true person which she was. Whenever she did interviews or was addressed, she was always called by her stage name, very rarely was she called by her real name, not even in the media.

And yet, despite the fact that Arabella hated becoming Blair, she had to suck it up and do as she was told. Five years she had to do this, and with each day that went by when she had to take on this persona made her want out even more. Unfortunately the moment she had uttered a word about it, someone...some very awful person had to come into her life and begin threatening her. All she wanted was to be happy again, why did someone have to try and deny her this? At least the one comfort she had at that time was that Sherlock Holmes was investigating her case and trying to shed light on whomever was leaving those threats for her.

"Hey, are you feeling okay Arabella?" Heather asked her as she was brushing Arabella's long hair into a ponytail.

Arabella's amber eyes snapped out of their state of just staring off into space as she glared at her reflection, looking up at the reflection of the blonde haired woman standing behind her. Heather was a sweet person, one of the few people on her crew she could truly stand. Watching as she continued to work on her long brunette hair, styling it for that night's concert Arabella sighed.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied.

Heather smiled a little. "It's the final set of shows for your tour, then you get to head home and relax for a while. I'm sure you're looking forward to that."

Home. Home for Arabella would always be that small town in Indiana she grew up in, not some fancy mansion in San Diego, California where she had been moved to when she agreed to her contract. Heck it was a home she barely even saw she was kept so busy and on the road, and having a large home which she lived in by herself was awful. She would prefer being in an apartment, but when did she ever have a choice when everything was chosen for her?

"Yes, I suppose so."

At her response Heather could tell that Arabella clearly was not as enthusiastic about the idea of going home.

"Arabella, are you still thinking about quitting?" Heather asked.

Hearing that question Arabella felt a shiver course down her spine, not knowing if she should say anything. Instead she shrugged. In response Heather finished tying the ponytail holder in Arabella's hair and placed the brush on the table before turning to her friend and looking her in the eye.

"Look, I know this has been on your mind lately. Every time you get ready for a concert you don't seem to have any drive or motivation to get onstage and perform. Afterwards you always seem happier and seemingly glad that it's over. Clearly you're not having fun."

Swallowing hard Arabella tried not to get emotional or say anything about this subject, even though she desperately wanted to confide in someone who was being so kind to her. She had already told Sherlock and John, but that was on a professional note, they weren't her close friends or anything like that. Weeping in front of them was not an option for her, she did not want to humiliate herself that way or make them feel like she was putting on a pathetic display of emotion. John seemed like he might be more understanding, but Sherlock was much more intimidating. When they had first met he had thought she had blindly chosen this life because she was a small town girl who wanted to achieve fame and fortune and probably acted like typical rock stars. It was the exact opposite for her.

"Maybe you should take off for a while," Heather offered. "Take a vacation away from everything and think about what it is that you want. It makes me upset to see you like this, conflicted and unsure about what you do."

Arabella bit her lower lip, still trying to hold back those awful emotions. "Maybe you're right."

Heather smiled a very friendly, reassuring smile and delicately patted Arabella's shoulder. "You should do whatever makes you happy, Arabella. Don't let others tell you what you should or shouldn't do."

A small smile managed to break through on Arabella's lips. Heather was very kind to her, so understanding, unlike so many other people. It was nice to have someone on her side.

"Thanks, Heather," she said before hugging her. "You really are a good friend."

Just then a knock came on the dressing room door before it opened and in stepped a man with thick rimmed glasses and salt and pepper colored hair.

"You're on in three minutes," he said to Arabella.

Arabella sighed and nodded. "Alright, Rick. I'm ready."

Smiling back at Heather who told her to have a good show, Arabella got up from her seat and walked out of her dressing room. Rick walked beside her as she walked towards the backstage area.

"So Arabella, it has come to my attention that you allowed two men to have backstage passes granting them access to every area they choose. A little unusual for you isn't it?"

Her amber eyes rolled a bit, of course her manager would find out somehow. Maybe his idiot nephew ratted them out.

"Is this a problem? Last I recall I was able to give such passes to whomever I choose."

Rick sighed. "Yes you have that choice, but since when did you have friends around London, especially men like them? I would have thought you would have people who were about your age coming backstage."

"Rick, it doesn't matter. I don't have people my age whom I spend time with. I barely spend time with anyone in this profession. The only time I ever have anyone backstage is if fans win a contest."

"Exactly, hence why I am asking who these men are," Rick continued. "You're not having relations with either one of them are you?"

Arabella sent a very dark glare at her manager. "Rick! What the hell are you asking me _that_ for?"

Rick sighed, realizing his mistake. "I'm sorry, Arabella. Just understand, I am trying to look out for you."

"You're not my guardian, Rick. I appreciate your concern but you should honestly allow me to make some of my own decisions instead of making them for me or allowing the record company to do it, okay? For once just trust me, I know what I am doing. Those men are friends of mine and I allowed them to come."

He then nodded a bit. "Alright then. I didn't mean to upset you, I was just concerned. You seem to be acting different than usual as of late. I know you were talking about possibly wanting to explore other career choices, which I hope you have changed your mind about. You have so much potential, and you have achieved so much, just...think it over before you do anything drastic, my dear."

Exhaling a heated breath through her lips, Arabella tried to calm herself down. Rick's comments had driven her up the wall so easily on top of her dislike for what she was about to do that night.

"Don't worry, Rick. I'm fine, you don't have to be so concerned. I will make my decisions carefully," she told him hoping that her response would satisfy him.

With a smile, Rick nodded. "I'm glad to hear you say that. Alright, have a good show, Arabella."

She gave him a polite nod as he left. Arabella then waited as the lights inside the arena went out, hearing the excited cries of her fans. If there was one thing she did care about in this career she had grown to hate so, she did care about her fans. If she did walk away, she would hope that they would understand why she did. She adored her fans who praised her ability to sing, but still she could care less about the fame and the money. At least she got to sing. Finally the band began to play those rock metal sounding notes as the lights from above rained down on the stage. Breathing out one final exhale, Arabella walked out on stage as her fans erupted in cheers. Thus began her need to don the mask of her alter ego, Blair, and perform as if nothing was upsetting her.

* * *

Elsewhere John and Sherlock wandered about the backstage areas, both going their own separate ways to cover more ground, searching for anyone or anything suspicious. If the last threat warned of something fatal, it could be that someone intended to harm Arabella. Earlier that day Sherlock had checked everywhere around the stage and above where the catwalks were, looking for anything which might be out of place. Nothing. Maybe the person threatening her would not do something so spectacular in front of a crowd. With very little to go on, Sherlock had to keep the possibilities open to several ideas.

For a short while he did pause to listen and watch Arabella as she performed. He was off to the side of the stage, watching the woman who had come to him just the previous day seeking his help. This was not her. Once more she looked very much like she had in that photograph in the paper, that awful eye makeup, an outfit consisting of black skinny jeans, knee high black boots, a lacy black off the shoulder top with long sleeves, and her torso concealed by a black corset-like top. At least she didn't flaunt herself, showing off a ton of skin and dancing in a suggestive manner. Although he could not hear it in her voice, she was hiding it very well, he could plainly see that she was not happy. Sure she gave appreciative smiles and words to her fans in the crowd, but there was something in her eyes which spoke of her unhappiness. Speaking of her voice, while he absolutely thought the music and the dark lyrics were abhorrent...he couldn't say the same about her voice. As John had said, her singing had an almost operatic sound to it as she could hit high notes and she articulated her words, not slurring them or sounding incoherent. That was very interesting to him. If she sang anything from an opera, or even a good musical, her voice would surely sound much better and show her true potential.

Two hours passed rather uneventfully, no threats seemed to be present that night and Arabella's concert was now entering the encore performance. Sherlock and John met up behind the stage, both of them were unable to track down anything leading to a suspect.

"Two hours have passed and there's no one out there who seems to want to show any signs of threatening her. Not even that ex-boyfriend of hers, he's been at his post all night and no one suspicious has been moving about the stage. We have nothing to go on other than those threats," John declared.

Sherlock too was at a loss and very annoyed about it, even though he loved challenges. "It's not over until the curtain falls, John."

The two men went backstage again to continue watching as Arabella was starting one of three songs to wrap up the night. Arabella was exhausted, which was normal after a long night of singing and moving about the stage under strong stage lights. She couldn't wait to sleep. At least the concert was going just as planned.

As she reached the middle of the first song she was singing, she looked out into the crowd of excited fans and noticed a strange look come across so many of their faces. They turned from excited and enthusiastic to...confusion...horror. Suddenly several of them began screaming in terror at something which was clearly happening above her. Arabella turned and witnessed a most frightening sight...someone falling from the catwalks, plummeting towards the stage several feet below before landing with a sickening thud and remained contorted in a very disturbing manner. Arabella's body petrified in shock for a moment, her voice had gone completely silent. Her terrified eyes soon recognized the horribly beaten and bloody body which had just fallen upon the stage. The microphone in her now shaking hand slipped from her grip and hit the stage as the realization of what happened came over her and who she was looking at.

_Heather._

As her fans screamed at what they had just witnessed, Arabella felt her body tremble before she too screamed as hot, terrified tears ran down her cheeks. Finally as the band scrambled to get off the stage in the confusion and shock, Arabella sprinted off the stage as the lights were suddenly being turned off to conceal the body. She ran past everyone, even those who shouted out her name, running out of the backstage area and back to her dressing room. After the horror she had just witnessed, she needed to be far away from that scene and alone.

Sherlock and John both witnessed the scene which unfolded unexpectedly, having a good vantage point of the body falling from above and what it looked like when it landed upon the stage. Amongst the chaos, Sherlock noticed Arabella running from the scene.

"John, go to Arabella. Although she seems strong enough not to, I wouldn't rule out the possibility that she might faint and it would be best if someone trustworthy was with her," he quickly told him.

John nodded in agreement and left to follow the distraught singer. Sherlock quickly pulled out his phone to call Lestrade directly, knowing that several people were probably flooding the phone lines to the police already.

"Lestrade, there's been a murder at the Blair Ravenna concert," he began as he moved to run upstairs to the catwalks.

* * *

Inside her dressing room she slammed the door behind her, her back pressed against it to further try and stabilize her trembling body as to keep her from falling over. Her breathing became very uneven as she cried. What on earth had happened? Why Heather?

Soon she managed to sort of stumble away from the door, wanting to remove the makeup on her face which was likely running down her cheeks with those tears. She moved towards the table in front of the mirror to find the makeup removing cloths she always used...but she came face to face with something. Something very sinister.

Instead of seeing her own reflection in the mirror, Arabella found her reflection was obstructed. On the glass she found words written in red paint, obviously to resemble blood. Small veins of the paint were slowly running down the glass, giving the appearance of the message a much more eerie one.

_You were warned, and now her death is on your head. _

Seeing this message displayed before her, Arabella trembled more as her eyes widened more to their fullest capacity if not beyond that. Now the threat she had received had come true. Not for her, but someone close to her who cared about her situation. Never had she anticipated that someone else would have been killed, she thought her life was the one which would have been fatally harmed.

A bloodcurdling scream escaped her mouth as she collapsed to her knees and she embraced herself tightly.

"WHY?" she screamed. "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME? LEAVE ME ALONE!"

With that she hunched over and cried profusely.

* * *

**Hey everyone! Hope you all enjoyed this update, obviously now things are going to get a lot more interesting as the case gets darker. I want to thank everyone who commented, I really appreciate your feedback! IKhandoZatman, your comment regarding the last chapter totally made my day! And thank you to everyone who favorited and followed this story, it means a lot! :)  
**


	5. After the Curtain Fell

Arabella cried her eyes out, completely overcome by her fear, shock and anger. There was no sign of her stopping anytime soon, this was one of those rare times when her emotions were running like mad. The last time she had cried this hard was the day she had been informed that her father had died from a fatal asthma attack. That had been her darkest day. It seemed so impossible. Her father, Nathan, had always been so careful about taking his medication and having his inhaler available. How he never survived was beyond her. The day she had been told she cried very hard and for ages. Now here she was crying just as hard, her fevered brain was absolutely unable to process anything at that time she was so afraid and confused.

Moments later she heard a knock on the door, causing her to snap her eyes in the direction of the door. Her body shivered uncontrollably, frightened at the thought of who could possibly be on the other side of the door and really not wanting anyone to see her this way.

"Miss Stevens, it's John Watson, are you alright?"

Hearing that familiar voice brought her only a second's worth of relief. At least it was one of the very, very few people she trusted at that time. Gathering up the little amount of strength which her body still possessed at that time and rose to her feet before staggering a bit to the door and opening it. Sure enough there was John.

When she had opened the door, John saw Arabella's face and immediately his heart went out to the poor girl. Her eyes were completely red from crying, her tears had mingled a bit with the dark makeup on her face and slightly streamed down her reddened cheeks.

"Miss Stevens, my God," he said as he entered the room with her.

Her gaze dropped. "S-s-she's dead...Heather's d-d-d-dead...and it's m-my fault," she barely murmured as she tried to hold back her sobs.

John gazed upon her with a confused look. "Your...how is it your fault?"

Another hot tear rolled down her cheek. Her mouth opened but no sound came forth as her throat seemed to tighten up. Closing it once more she simply gestured to the message on the mirror. John turned to it and read the message. His eyes widened a bit, but he now understood what she had said.

Before he could say another word, Arabella broke down once more. Instantly he wrapped his arm around her and guided her over to the sofa in the room and helped her to sit down. Beneath his touch he could feel how much she shivered, not because the air was cool, but because of the tremendous amount of shock she was in at that moment.

"Please, Miss Stevens," John pled in a soothing voice. "You must try to relax. I know you're in shock right now, but you must try to calm down. Should I bring you some tissues? I'm afraid your makeup is running a little."

She nodded a bit, a tear dropped from the tip of her nose onto her black pants. "If...you wouldn't mind...can you, also bring me...that package of makeup removing towelettes...and the hand mirror...I can't bear to look at the other one," she managed to reply as she tried to choke back her sobs.

John nodded and stood up to gather the items she requested. He had no doubt she would not want to use the mirror before her which had been so disturbingly altered to aid her. In his mind he had no idea why anyone would be so cruel to this young woman, and go out of their way to kill someone close to her to make good on their threat. What had Arabella done to deserve this? Nothing. Bringing back the items, John sat beside her as she began to remove the dark stage makeup from her eyes and cheeks. It took a few of those towlettes to remove everything, but soon she was looking like her normal self. Disposing of the used towelettes, Arabella grabbed a tissue to begin wiping away the tears which still ran down her face.

"Feel better?" John asked.

Arabella looked down. "Only a little. I doubt I'll be able to sleep tonight."

"If you'd like I can give you something to help you sleep, I am a doctor so I can do that," he offered.

"You're very kind, John. I appreciate it, and I guess if you think it will help I'll try whatever you think might be best."

He nodded. "Very well, I'll give it to you before you leave."

"Thank you. Where's Sherlock?" she then inquired.

"Actually that's a good question. We were both watching you from backstage when Heather's body fell. He told me to look after you, my guess is that he went to try and track down the person who was responsible, or at least anything which might offer us an idea of who it was and what happened."

Arabella nodded. She hoped that this time there would be something which would offer some idea as to who was behind this murder.

* * *

In the meantime, Sherlock had finished his call to Lestrade who was on his way. Fans were streaming out of the arena as the security personnel worked to get them out safely. This exciting concert had just become a crime scene. For Sherlock, this case had suddenly turned far more intriguing than before. From simple threats directed toward Arabella, murder had been thrown into the mix. Now things were getting very interesting.

Sherlock ran up the stairs leading to the different levels of catwalks above the stage area. The first level was where that incredibly dull ex-boyfriend of Arabella's had been stationed with one other man during the night to do lighting. He had observed them both up there the entire night at their posts and saw them run down prior to his ascending the staircase. Armed with a small flashlight he looked all around this first catwalk, searching for any evidence. Nothing. When he ran up to the next level up, where no one had been that night, that was where he found something.

Upon reaching this second level, Sherlock found a small pool of blood. No blood was on the staircase leading up to this spot. From that section all the way to and down the catwalk he found a few small blood spots and smudges leading to the middle of it. Another thing he noticed were pieces of duct tape with specks of blood laying there. Further examining them, one had smudged lipstick on the sticky side, this piece had to have been over Heather's mouth. The other piece had a few arm hairs sticking to it, so this one had been secured around her wrists. Looking down below he could see the stage and the very spot where Heather's body had landed. Oh yes, now all of the evidence was beginning to give him an idea of what had happened. While he would have to check the body to confirm his hypothesis, he managed to piece together that somehow Heather was brought up to the catwalks by the killer. She was bound and beaten to death where the pool of blood was, then her body was dragged onto the catwalk and then pushed over so she would fall onto the stage in front of everyone. The plunge from that high up and the way she had fallen, Sherlock was not about to rule out that she could have had cracked her skull when her head hit the stage, delivering a final blow to ensure that she was dead. Once again, he had to see the body. At least he had something to go off of.

Noticing Lestrade and his people beginning to walk on the stage towards the body, Sherlock headed back down to have a word with him. Within a few seconds he had descended the staircase and appeared on the stage with them, wanting to have a look at the body before that God awful man Anderson and his team did anything to it. Lestrade was the first to notice Sherlock as he approached.

"Ah, Sherlock. Interesting to see you here at a rock concert, didn't think that was your thing," Lestrade noted.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It isn't, I was working a different case when this occurred."

Lestrade's brow furrowed. "Another case?"

"I'll inform you later, right now there is a dead woman lying on this stage and I already have a working theory as to how she died, so if you'll kindly allow me to examine her I can give you more information about what happened to her."

Stepping aside to observe, Lestrade watched as Sherlock approached the body to examine it. Kneeling down beside the body Sherlock first looked to see if indeed Heather had any sign of a skull fracture, which there was and a small pool of blood had formed beneath her head. There were indeed signs of a struggle, there were bruises all around her neck from both hands and possibly something like a rope judging by the patterns they had formed. Observing her wrists, Sherlock found that they were slightly pink, likely from when the killer had ripped the tape from the skin to possibly make it look more like she had committed suicide. Heather's face had blood streaming down her lip from a cut on her mouth, a bruise on her cheek as well. Lifting her shirt just a bit, Sherlock also found bruises which formed on her torso. Yes, she had been beaten before her body fell to the stage below.

Sherlock stood once more. "She was killed well before the fall from the second catwalk above the stage. She was captured by the killer, bound and beaten until she was dead. The killer then dragged her out onto the catwalk and shoved her body down to the stage below."

Lestrade gave him a puzzled look. "How do you know it was the second one?"

"Oh please, you don't think I've already looked for signs of the killer?" Sherlock responded, rather disappointed in the Detective Inspector. "There's blood on that catwalk and pieces of duct tape, which were used to bind her wrists and cover her mouth so she could not struggle or scream."

Nodding, Lestrade instructed a few officers to get that evidence before turning back to Sherlock. "Any sign of the murderer?"

"No. In the midst of the chaos I am sure he found a way to blend in and sneak out. You'll have to obtain any footage from the backstage area or where the dressing rooms are. We have to find out how this young lady was taken."

"Will do," Lestrade replied. "So what is this other case you're working on?"

Sherlock had a feeling that Arabella didn't want anyone else knowing what was going on with the threats, but Lestrade was someone he could trust.

"What I am about to tell you cannot be printed or announced, another young woman's life depends on it."

At this Lestrade gave him a surprised look. "What young woman?"

"Arabella Stevens, who is the performer known as Blair Ravenna. She met with John and I yesterday because she had been receiving threats from someone. Someone who knew that she was thinking of leaving this profession and warned her not to, or to speak to anyone about it. She had been warned that if she spoke of this again that there would be a fatal consequence. It seems this person has made good on that promise."

The surprised look on Lestrade's face increased a few degrees, conveying how truly stunned he was to hear this. "Dear God...the woman must be hysterical right now."

Sherlock sighed. "Undoubtedly. John's looking after her right now."

He then noticed the two men who had been working on the first catwalk with the lighting during the show. Since they were the closest to the place where the murder took place, he knew it was best to question them.

"Call those two men over, they were working on lighting on the first catwalk."

Lestrade called them over and they obeyed. The moment Todd's eyes met with Sherlock's, they narrowed a bit.

"You again?" Todd said as he folded his arms across his chest. "What are you doing hanging around here? Are you some police guy or something?"

Sherlock's eyes stared him down. "I'm a consulting detective. And I have a few questions for you both. This young lady fell from the catwalk directly from above where you were both stationed during the performance. Was there anyone else up there or permitted to work on the second one?"

The two men shook their heads.

"No, we're the only ones working on the lighting above the stage, no one else goes up there," Todd replied.

"And neither of you noticed anyone else coming up the stairs, particularly toward the end of the show?"

The other man, Jason, replied, "Kind of hard to hear someone over the music, and with our backs to the staircase it's a bit hard to notice and we were completely focused on our work."

With his brief questioning going nowhere in terms of getting results, Sherlock dismissed them. He sent another cold stare at Todd when he noticed the one being sent his way. There was something very annoying about that man who was obviously jealous of any man who got close to his ex-girlfriend. Despite this, Sherlock had seen Todd up at his post that night so he didn't think he was highly suspect and there was no evidence of him being involved with the threats or murder. Of course at this moment he was not ready to rule anyone out, he would keep his eyes open and remain critical of everyone.

Now that he was done for the moment with this area, he decided it would now be a good time to check up on his client. Leaving the stage he walked through the backstage area and down the hallway which led to her dressing room. He raised a hand and knocked on the door. A moment later John opened it.

"Ah Sherlock, did you find anything?" he asked.

"I found something, not the murderer, but something. I'll fill you in later, right now I need to speak with Miss Stevens."

John looked at him sternly. "Okay but whatever you do, don't frighten the poor girl."

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "Why on earth would I do that?"

With a sigh his friend replied, "Just...be gentle. Arabella has had a terrible scare this evening and she's in shock."

Rolling his eyes Sherlock groaned, hating the mild scolding which John had just given him. Walking into the room he found Arabella sitting on the sofa embracing her legs with her arms, trembling a little. It was plain to see that she was very frightened by the murder of her friend, and to have experienced it in such a dramatic fashion. And he could not blame her for being so shocked or upset at that moment. First the threats, now a violent death, this case was suddenly turning darker for her.

Closing the door behind him, he suddenly sniffed the air noticing a particularly strong smell. Glancing towards the mirror he stopped suddenly when he discovered the source of said odor, the red paint which had spelled out that horrible message. Looking at it a bit closer he estimated that it had been left there very recently by how dry the paint was still drying. The killer must have left it just before the encore performance, possibly slipping through the crowd of workers as they were getting ready for the next stage of the show. Then he somehow got Heather and took her to the catwalk where he killed her. Sherlock then turned his attention back to the young lady in the room. Slowly he approached her and stood beside her, looking down on her still slightly shivering figure. He noticed that she was no longer wearing that awful stage makeup, well she still had the dark lipstick on, but that was tolerable. She looked much better without all of that elaborate makeup anyway.

"Miss Stevens," he began but was cut off.

"Heather was murdered...wasn't she?" Arabella asked.

She must have known he would tell her the details. So it was Heather who had been killed, he has suspected that it was her after Arabella had mentioned that she had confided in this woman and felt she was trustworthy. Sherlock nodded before he sat down beside her to explain.

"Yes. But she was dead before she fell. Someone had beaten her before allowing her body to fall from the catwalk."

Arabella shivered at the thought of the torture which Heather had endured. The poor woman, how could anyone have done this to her?

"I know you're in a state of shock right now, but I must know," Sherlock continued calmly. "Did you discuss your desire to quit with her today?"

At his uttering of that question, Arabella's heart sank. While she hadn't been the one to start that discussion with Heather, nor did she go in depth with it, it still had been brought up. Somehow...whomever was watching her, closely enough to know it had at least been a mentioning. Arabella gripped the fabric of her pants tightly as she tried to swallow that lingering, painful lump in the back of her throat.

"Yes and no," she muttered. "Heather casually asked me if I was still thinking about quitting, telling me how she noticed how I didn't seem to be having fun anymore and she was worried about me. Then she mentioned that I might want to take time off to think over what I really wanted. I never discussed this in depth with her, I only said that maybe she was right and I should take time off. But...I never thought that would lead to her dying."

She lowered her face into her hands, trying so hard with the scraps of her still remaining strength not to cry. So many tears had been shed that evening, and it hadn't even been a half hour yet. Arabella was exhausted from the show, now more so with the combined exhaustion from crying so much. And this was certainly not the end of it.

"It's my fault," her voice cracked. "All my fault. I tried not to discuss anything with her...but I couldn't lie and say that I was happy again. God...I thought the threat was meant for me...not someone close to me. It should have been me lying dead on that stage...not her."

Sherlock gazed upon the distressed young woman with a typical emotionless look in his eyes. While he was not one to show emotion, he would not deny that he felt a bit sorry for her. This young woman was trapped in a threatening, now deadly trap. He wasn't the best at consoling people who were overly emotional, nor did he really care to. However, he had seen far more hysterical people before, Arabella was doing her best not to be so frantic despite how shocked she clearly was. It was very pleasing to see that she was managing to reign in her emotions and try to keep herself somewhat composed. Sherlock placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder, noticing how she did not shudder away from his touch.

"It's not your fault, Miss Stevens," he told her. "You may believe it is just because of your brief conversation with her over the matter, but I believe that this killer was waiting for any reason to bring you that 'fatal consequence', wanting to show you that he means every word of those threats. Just the fact that this conversation was brought up, even if it wasn't drawn out, the fact that you didn't say that you weren't thinking of quitting probably was the motivation. I assure you though, her death has nothing to do with you. You did not lay a hand on her, you were seeking friendly advice and this killer is now using that as a means to frighten you into remaining in this life as you are."

Biting down on her lower lip she felt slightly comforted by his words. She knew he was right, this killer was indeed trying to play with her mind and frighten her into staying in this profession despite how much she hated it.

"Thank you," she replied sincerely before turning to look at him. "What happens now?"

Sherlock pulled his arm back before addressing that question. "I have already examined the body and determined how she died. The forensics team here likely has already done their work and the body has been moved. Tomorrow I intend to do some further analysis to see if there are any clues on Heather's body that might aid us in our search for the killer, and I will also be looking into any surveillance tapes as well. Do not worry for now, I will keep you posted through texts if anything comes up. For now, you can just focus on trying to relax and carry on your normal routine, although I highly doubt that your second concert will be performed considering how this place has become a crime scene."

Arabella shook her head. "Oh no, I am not going to perform. I can't, not after what has happened. Yes it has become a crime scene, but I am just too emotionally upset by this occurrence that I need time to mourn her death and get over what has happened. I'll likely have to do some sort of press conference tomorrow or something. But yes, I would appreciate hearing from you if you find anything. And if there is anything I can do to help, anything at all, please don't hesitate to ask me."

Once more she was showing a willingness to be involved in the investigation more than normal clients. Sherlock honestly couldn't remember the last time that happened, and it was a bit surprising, but seeing as she wanted this whole nightmare over for her, he was not entirely surprised.

"Of course," he stated before standing up. "I will be in touch, Miss Stevens. And I am sorry about Heather."

Arabella's amber eyes met with his greenish blue ones. "Thank you, and thank you for everything that you're doing."

Giving her a courteous nod, Sherlock turned and left the room. John was waiting patiently outside the door.

"Everything alright?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded. "She seems to be controlling her emotions to the best of her ability, it was a relief that I didn't have to deal with an inconsolable woman."

John gave his friend a look. "Sherlock for God's sake! What happened tonight has shaken her to her core, when I first found her earlier, she was a crying mess, and while she is indeed trying to control her emotions she is still very hurt."

"I'm not saying she isn't, I'm just saying that she's at least doing her best to be reasonable, not a hysterical woman."

From there the two of them left the area and went back to the stage. Heather's body had now been removed and a good sized stain of blood was left behind.

* * *

When Sherlock left, Arabella knew that it would be best for her to change out of her stage outfit and back into her normal clothes. Soon she would be whisked away in a car back to the hotel so she could get some much needed sleep, if she could. John had indeed given her a couple pills which he said would help her to sleep, now she was actually thinking they might be best. She was almost desperate for sleep right now, the previous night had not treated her well and right now she was absolutely exhausted. Considering what would ultimately have to be done in the morning at some point with a conference to comment on Heather's death and what would happen with the other concert.

Dressed in her jeans, flats and a long sleeved white shirt, Arabella gathered her things so she could head back to the hotel. Leaving the dressing room, she ran into Rick.

"Arabella, there you are," he started. "I'm so sorry about Heather, are you doing okay?" he then asked sincerely.

She shook her head. "Rick that is a stupid question. I witnessed her plunge from above the stage and her blood now stains it. How do you expect me to feel?"

He nodded. "Of course, I apologize. Look, I've been discussing the matter with the police. There's no possibility we're going to be able to do the show tomorrow night or any time soon so we're going to have to cancel the final show."

"I expected as much, and I am not capable of performing right now anyway. Let me guess, we'll be announcing the cancelation during a press conference tomorrow?"

"Yes. I'll call you tomorrow morning when I have all the details worked out. For now, you better head back and try to get some sleep," he said placing a hand on her shoulder in a comforting way.

Nodding she replied, "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow."

With that Arabella walked down the hallway heading toward the stage to grab her watch which she had left by the drum set during the show after it had become a bit uncomfortable to wear on her wrist when she was sweating under the hot stage lights. Walking onto the stage area she found her watch and saw Sherlock and John speaking with the police.

"So what are you doing around here, Freak?" Sergeant Donovan asked Sherlock. "Didn't think the concert scene was really your thing."

Anderson snorted a bit. "Especially a dark, metal type band."

Sherlock sighed. "The type of music is of no consequence to me, I had another reason to be here when this occurred. Seems to be the case that I was in the right place at the right time."

A smirk emerged on Donovan's face. "Maybe so, maybe you actually did produce a body this time. I know how bored you psychopaths must get, maybe you wanted to stir up trouble."

"And it would be no wonder that you were unable to catch the murderer this time, and that you were able to tell us how the girl was killed," Anderson added.

John glared at them. "Would the two of you stop? This is outrageous, it's not even funny!"

Sherlock just stared emotionlessly at them. Three years later and those two still insisted on making those harsh remarks, how daft. Before he could even attempt to voice a snappy comeback at the two, another voice joined the conversation.

"More than that, it's disgusting."

All four of them turned and saw Arabella, her face conveyed a very generous amount of anger and how appalled she was.

"Oh my God, you're Blair Ravenna," Donovan said, clearly amazed to be in the presence of a well know celebrity like her. "You're an incredible singer-"

"Do not call me by that name, I have a real name thank you very much. Spare me the gushing compliments, I am absolutely in no mood to hear them, and especially from you or your friend there," Arabella snapped. "How dare the two of you even joke about the murder of my friend! How can you possibly do such a thing?"

Anderson spoke up. "We didn't mean any harm."

"Yeah, we just...well, his methods are not normal and-" Donovan tried to explain.

A flash of fury erupted in Arabella's eyes, her amber orbs ablaze in wildfire. "So _this_ is how police act around here? Casting out insults at someone just because they are different? The two of you calling him a _very _cruel word without even using it correctly based on its meaning, just because he has a different way of viewing things? How selfish! What the hell is this? Are we children? I expected more professional attitudes around here! A friend of mine was _murdered_, and you two are acting like it's a joke and carrying on a pathetic name calling session!"

Donovan and Anderson both had embarrassed looks on their faces.

"Just for the record, I don't give a damn what you say about him. You can tell me he's eccentric, or weird, or any other related words until you're both blue in the face, but it still would not change a thing! He is brilliant and at least he takes this whole matter seriously, and that means a hell of a lot to me. I'm sorry but when it comes to trusting people, the two of you have lost every ounce of credibility with me."

After finishing her retort, her eyes caught a small glimpse of the blood which was still on the stage. A very uncomfortable shiver ran through her body, making her want to cry and With that, Arabella gave Sherlock and John a polite nod before turning on her heel and storming away from the stage. Never had she heard such appalling comments before, especially from people who were supposed to be trustworthy because they were police. But to joke around that someone had possibly murdered someone just because he knew how she died just from observing details others missed? She found that to be absolutely unbelievable. Even if Sherlock Holmes was different than others, she trusted him and he had believed her and taken her plea for help seriously. There was a dangerous person out there who had threatened her and now had killed her friend, that was nothing to joke about.

Sherlock and John watched Arabella leave, knowing very well that she had been upset by these comments and neither of them could blame her.

John glared back at Donovan and Anderson. "Well done. The poor woman has been frightened to death tonight and all you could do was make fun of the situation. You both really outdid yourselves this time."

Seeing their extremely humiliated looks on their faces Sherlock had to smirk. "Clearly you both never learned to think before you speak."

Anderson sneered at Sherlock. "Oh as if you have learned that," he spat.

"At least the things I say are based upon facts and what the evidence laid before me indicates. You two only say things which pop in your daft little brains without considering these things and ignoring all the facts. Besides, you said what came to your mind not thinking about who might be able to hear your pathetic insults, and it landed you in hot water with a celebrity," Sherlock replied.

And that was the end of the conversation between the four of them. Sherlock and John walked away from the crime scene, ready to head back to Baker Street.

"You know, that was rather nice of Miss Stevens to defend you. Can't remember the last time a client was so appreciative of your work that they would defend you with such fervor."

Sherlock began slipping on his black leather gloves as he listened to what John said. Even he couldn't recall such a thing. Sure he had been thanked by clients and even given unnecessary tokens of their appreciation. But when it came to someone saying harsh things about him, which happened now and again, none of them had been so willing to defend him. Arabella had done that, but she was probably just venting her anger upon hearing what Donovan and Anderson had said. They deserved it anyway, and it was absolutely amusing to see them so humiliated.

"You really should thank her," John commented.

"What for?" Sherlock replied. "She's already left and likely doesn't want to be disturbed right now. You saw how upset she was."

"It would be a nice thing for you to do, maybe it would make her feel better too," John pressed.

Sherlock ignored John's comment. As he had mentioned, Arabella had already left the arena to head back to her hotel room. He was not about to call her or pay an unnecessary visit to her just to thank her. Bringing it up the next time he saw her, whenever that was, would be awkward and it seemed unappealing to him to do that. He would not voice it to John, but secretly he did appreciate what she had said in a way. It was indeed nice of her.

* * *

Inside the black car which was whisking her away from the arena to her hotel, Arabella felt incredibly exhausted from the whole ordeal, and her heart ached with an overwhelming pain knowing that her friend had been murdered. She had no idea how long she would feel this, but she had no doubt it would be for a long time.

Breaking her train of thought, a small bell-like sound came from her bag. Searching through it Arabella found her phone and checked it when she recognized the sound was her text alert sound.

**Your remarks were not necessary, but they were appreciated.**

**SH**

Reading this at first Arabella wondered why he thought her remarks were unnecessary, everything she had said to Donovan and Anderson were indeed things she needed to say. She was not a mean spirited person by any means, but those comments had driven her over the edge. Then she realized that he had to be speaking of her words which had been defending him as he had mentioned that they were appreciated. A small smile crossed her lips at that, it brought a faint glimmer of happiness to this very dark night for her.

**You're welcome.**

**-Arabella**

Sending that reply she placed her phone back in her bag. She did not want to just leave his text without a reply, that would be rude and she had been brought up better than that. Arabella had come to find that there were very, very few people she could really trust now. Heather had been killed, leaving her with one less friend in this world. She couldn't see how she could really trust anyone on the crew, not even Rick. No, the only people she could find trustworthy were Sherlock and John. Suddenly she felt more alone than ever, and it was uncomfortable. More and more she felt as if there were walls closing in around her leaving her with very few options, trapping her in this life she so desperately wanted to escape.

* * *

**Hey everyone! I finally managed to finish this chapter and get it uploaded. Sorry for the delay, I really try to aim for updating within a week but this chapter required so much time for me to write and try to fit in all of the details I wanted to include that it took more time for me to work on than I intended. I hope it was worth waiting for and was a good one! Thank you to everyone who commented, I really appreciate your feedback! And thank you to everyone who has favorited and followed this story! :) **


	6. Next Day & An Unexpected Reunion

Thanks to the pills which John had given her to aid her in her sleep after all of the chaos of the evening, Arabella had managed to fall asleep rather quickly and slept the entire night until morning. Of course the fact that she had been so exhausted from the performance and then all of the crying she had done after Heather's death probably helped her fall asleep as well. On the bright side she had no nightmares and she had been able to get several hours of much needed sleep. Still, besides that one positive thing for her there was far too much negativity overshadowing it. Today she would have to have a press conference to not only express how much Heather would be missed, but also that the concert for that night would have to be cancelled. Rick would probably want to reschedule the event, but since the arena was a crime scene there was no telling how long it would have to remain that way, and there wasn't any other place with available space. Great way to finish off her tour, with a technically incomplete concert and the fans bearing witness to the result of a horrible crime.

Slowly she got out of bed and walked into the bathroom, needing a hot shower. Not only for cleanliness, but also to wake her up and hopefully soothe her feelings of anger and sadness over last night. Her appetite had not kicked in yet, she wondered if she would even feel it today. Of course she would have to eat something, that was inevitable but she would not have a real desire to do so. Slipping out of her black tank top and silky ice blue pajama pants which she wore as her sleepwear, she stepped into the shower when the temperature of the water was favorable enough for her.

Allowing the streams of warm water to cascade over her hair, face and body she sighed out of the soothing feeling which the sensation brought her. So much was on her mind, and so quickly too. Arabella was dreading the conference she would have to do that morning, not wanting to have to comment about the night before or announce the cancellation of the final concert. She hated that for her fans, but she was not very happy about discussing the events which took place. All she wanted was to get away from all of this, to be free of being constantly followed by Rick and others, including the press, and to just lead a normal life once more. But that might never happen, not when the person threatening her had suddenly become far more violent as a means to keep her from walking away.

For now she tried to dismiss all of her thoughts and just relax. Working her favorite orchid and coconut scented shampoo into her now drenched hair, she massaged her scalp and lathered all of the dark auburn strands, and the coral section of hair. Her hair was one of her favorite features about herself, it was a beautiful color naturally and the strands were very soft. The coral section of her hair was not entirely her choice, but she selected the color, not wanting something more bizarre like the neon violet that the record company originally wanted for her image. Oh it had taken so much for her not to cry when they dyed that section of her hair for the first time, needing to bleach it first. At least she didn't have to change all of it. The only other change was her bangs, now lack thereof. Before she signed the contract she had possessed bangs which were at the same level as her nose, but she had to grow those out too which she was not happy about either. Little by little, she had been morphed into someone else but she clung desperately to the person she once was, not wanting to become this other being they wanted her to be.

When she was finished with her shower, Arabella got out and dried herself off before putting on her robe and using the hairdryer to dry her long hair. If the conference was going to be early, she had to be ready at any moment. Leaving the bathroom she began looking through the outfits in her room to find an ensemble which she could wear for this conference, it had to look professional and respectful, likely a blouse, suit jacket and black pants. Finding the right items she laid them out just as there was a knock on her door.

When she opened the door, Rick walked inside.

"Morning," he said quickly. "I'm so glad to see you're awake."

Arabella was a bit stunned to see him. "I thought you were going to call me," she said when she checked her phone and discovered she had no missed calls or texts.

"I'm sorry, Arabella. I have been working very hard this morning to arrange the meeting. Here, I brought you something to eat, I need you to be ready in fifteen minutes, I'll have a car waiting for you downstairs to drive you to the location where we are holding the conference," he said before handing her a small plastic container holding a muffin within it.

She took it from him. "Okay, I'll be ready."

"Good, see you soon," Rick told her before he left the room.

Looking down at the small breakfast item Rick had provided, not allowing her any time to get a fuller breakfast in her before the conference. A little bit annoying, on top of the fact that he told her that he would call her to inform her of the details regarding the conference, which he never did. The final annoying factor, the muffin had cranberries in it, not one of her favorite ingredients. Cranberry juice she didn't mind, but having them in a muffin was not something she liked and she had said this multiple times. No one seemed to listen or care, she just had to be grateful for it and get herself ready as she was told. With her outfit selected, she slowly ate the muffin and got her hair brushed and styled along with her makeup. Once this conference was over she hoped she could just relax for the day. Her mind wandered, wondering if Sherlock was working on her case, hoping something would reveal itself and possibly give them a break in the investigation.

* * *

While Arabella was busy preparing for the conference, Sherlock was indeed working on her case. As promised, he had made his way over to St. Bart's where Heather's body had been taken to do a second analysis of it to look for anything he might have missed at first glance, although he had done a very thorough job to figure out her cruel fate. Now he had to find out if there was anything which would point him in a direction toward her killer, and thus leading to the person threatening Arabella. Although he was certain that they were the same person, he wasn't ruling out that there could be another person working with the killer. There wasn't evidence proving or disproving it, not yet.

Upon arriving at the morgue of the hospital, he requested to see Heather's body. The one person he looked to in order to fulfill said request was Molly Hooper. She immediately brought out the body and allowed him to do his work, but she stood by just to observe.

"Very tragic death," Molly said. "As I understand she fell onto a stage from a catwalk."

Sherlock did not look to Molly when she said this. He was examining Heather's hand, looking underneath her fingernails in order to see if there was any blood, hoping that she had put up a struggle and possibly scratched her attacker. Unfortunately all he found were black fibers from a black shirt, if these were from her trying to claw her attacker, it would not lead to anyone easily. Everyone backstage had been wearing black.

"More than that, she was beaten to death and then her body was allowed to fall to the stage below."

Molly swallowed, very uncomfortable by that thought. "Who would do such a thing?" she breathed, a hint of shock in her voice.

Sherlock checked Heather's other hand, same result. "Someone who was sending a message, proving that they meant every word in the threat they sent."

Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. "How do you know that?"

"Because I was there when this woman fell. The Blair Ravenna concert was where this occurred, I was working a case in the meantime when the murder took place."

Molly's eyes widened slightly and she took one step closer, eager to hear more about this.

"The Blair Ravenna concert? Oh I am very fond of her music, she's quite talented. Actually I was planning to see her concert tonight," she said.

"Don't count on it," Sherlock told her flatly. "The arena is still a crime scene, and I know very well that 'Blair Ravenna' is not willing to perform, not when her friend and makeup artist is lying right here dead, and certainly not after she had witnessed her fall just mere feet away from her during an encore performance."

Hearing this made Molly bring a hand to her mouth. "Oh my God...she must have been absolutely distraught."

"Indeed she was," Sherlock replied in a softer tone as he looked at the marks on Heather's neck.

The bruises from the strangulation were produced by hands and a rope, looking specifically at the ones made by the hands of the murderer, Sherlock was able to deduce the measurements of the size of the hand, which was one small thing, but it was something. Unfortunately it was not going to immediately point to anyone yet. Heather's body did not yield anymore evidence, which he knew it wouldn't. Hopefully Lestrade was having more luck with the security videos which the police obtained and were in the process of looking through at that time. Lestrade had said he would text Sherlock if they found anything.

"She was?" Molly asked. "Did you actually see Blair?"

Sherlock stood up straight and made his notes in a small notebook. "I wouldn't refer to her by her stage name, she is not very fond of it. And yes, she was the one being threatened."

"She's...your client then?" Molly guessed.

Just then a small sound emitted from his phone alerting him that he had a text.

**Have gone over the footage, found something of interest.**

**-Lestrade**

Sherlock smirked a bit, excellent timing. With his work being completed here, he could now get over to Scotland Yard and find out what had been found.

"Yes," he replied slipping his notes in his pocket. "And I would appreciate it if you did not say anything about that, just as I am sure she would appreciate it as well."

Molly nodded her head quickly. "Yes, of course."

"Good, I'm done here," he said slipping on his coat. "Thank you, Molly."

With that, Sherlock left the morgue and the hospital before hailing a cab and going directly to Scotland Yard. While Lestrade hadn't said what had been found which been of interest, Sherlock had a few theories running through his brilliant mind. He was certain that it was not a direct image of the killer, Lestrade's text would have been worded differently instead of using the words 'something of interest', more likely it was just a clue which would give them a lead. Of course, he would have to wait and see what had been found on the footage, and he hoped that those assigned to scan through all the footage had done a good job. So many dull people were so unobservant most of the time and could have missed something very key. Had Lestrade said they had found nothing, he would have wanted a different group of people to scan through it all again, convinced that the first group were just idiots.

When the cab arrived, Sherlock made his way up to Lestrade's office. For the first time when he entered the room Donovan didn't give him a second glance in order to glare at him or say anything to make fun of him. Once she saw him approach she just looked away and back to her work. Sherlock smirked to himself, it seemed that Arabella's words must have sunk in the previous night. She, a celebrity whom Donovan had tried to praise, had put her and Anderson in their places and had defended him. It was nice to see them told off by someone else for a change. He never anticipated that Arabella would have done that for him, yell at them for joking about her friend's murder yes, but not defend him. No client had ever done that. More than once she had surprised him, and that was a huge rarity.

Inside Lestrade's office, Sherlock found the Detective Inspector sitting at his desk.

"Got your text, what's of interest?" he asked.

Lestrade looked up. "Oh good you're here. Come here and look at this piece of footage we found. It's about the time when the encore performance started."

"Where was the camera?"

"It was facing down the hallway behind the stage. We checked all of the cameras, but there was one which was not working."

This detail got Sherlock's attention. "Which one?"

"The one shooting down the hallway where Miss Stevens' dressing room was. Apparently it malfunctioned the day before the concert and they couldn't use it," he explained.

Sherlock allowed a small exhale of annoyance to leave his lips. "How convenient."

Lestrade looked at him. "How do you mean?"

"Remember I said that Miss Stevens had been threatened? Someone entered her dressing room before Heather's body fell and left a message on the mirror in red paint," he told him before pulling out his phone and showing the DI a photo he managed to snap of it.

At the sight of it Lestrade blinked in surprise. "Good Lord...so the threat of a fatal consequence was for her to witness, not endure."

"Exactly," Sherlock said as he slipped his phone back in his pocket. "It could very well be coincidence, but it seems rather odd that this camera would be down during a big event. Right now I am leaning towards this being a convenience."

Biting his lower lip, Lestrade sighed. He didn't want to agree with Sherlock, but it did indeed seem very convenient that the camera focused on the area where Arabella had been getting ready was down. And if someone had known about it, they were able to enter her room, leave that message, and slip out again without being seen. This was getting much darker than the DI first anticipated.

"Now, what did you want me to see?" Sherlock asked.

Lestrade pulled up the video clip. While it played before his eyes, Sherlock saw a rather vacant hallway as everyone was now back at their spots on or backstage. He watched as Heather was walking down the hallway toward the dressing room when she abruptly stopped, looking down at something in her hand. Then she turned and headed back toward the backstage door and disappeared behind it. This was about ten minutes before her body fell. Sherlock recognized that Heather had a cell phone in her hand, she had stopped because she received a text, and then she went backstage, like she had been told to go there. So the killer must have texted her and told her to come backstage. Had she not recognized the sender's number or ID, she probably wouldn't have done it, but it was clear that she had to have known the killer.

Sherlock rewound the video to the point when everyone had come out of the backstage area to prepare for the encore. He clearly saw Arabella getting touch ups on her makeup by Heather, not needing to go to the dressing room. His keen eyes looked at the other people around them, trying to see if anyone had gone down the hallway leading to the dressing room. Unfortunately several people did, making it much more difficult to deduce or figure out who was a suspect. Nothing more was revealed to him in that section of the video. Sherlock even examined the footage after Heather's body fell, looking for anyone who looked like they would be someone to investigate, but with so many people in the chaotic moment running about, it was difficult yet again. This killer had to have blended in very, very well. All they now knew was that Heather had gone to the backstage area after getting a text and she never came back because the killer had lured her into his trap and killed her.

"So, she went backstage after receiving a text, which had to be from the killer. That was how he got her to comply. He didn't need to drag her up to the catwalks, he just told her to come and she did, thinking it was someone she knew," Sherlock said. "And there was no cell phone on the body or up on the catwalk so the murderer took the phone. Maybe he still has it."

"You really think he would?"

"It's worth a try," he replied. "Let me see if Miss Stevens can help us."

Sherlock grabbed his phone and sent Arabella a quick text to her, knowing she had to have Heather's number. If the phone was still on and traceable, it would definitely be a lead for them.

**Can you send me Heather's mobile number?**

**SH**

Sending the text he waited seemingly patient on the outside, yet on the inside he was very impatient, concerned that there might be very little time to trace the phone. He was well aware that she had a conference that morning but was unaware of the time when it was meant to take place. The sooner he received a reply, the better.

Moments later his phone received a text from Arabella with the number. Immediately Sherlock called the number, but just as he had feared, the number failed. The killer had taken the phone and had either destroyed the phone or taken the battery out. There was no way to find it. Once more, this killer had thought ahead and tried to remain one step ahead of Sherlock and anyone trying to find him. This annoyed him, but it only made him more intrigued as well, wanting to keep going and pursue him. Oh and he knew that whoever this man was, he would eventually make a mistake and Sherlock would catch it and he would finally catch him.

"Nothing," he announced.

Lestrade sighed in frustration. "Great. All we have is a dead woman, another woman's life being threatened by some lunatic, and we can't figure out who it is."

"Oh he might think he's clever by covering up his tracks so well, but believe me, he's bound to make a mistake and I will catch him," Sherlock declared.

* * *

Arabella had no idea why Sherlock had needed Heather's cell phone number when he had texted her. At first it had confused her, but she sent it anyway, knowing he had to have a very good reason for wanting it. Standing outside the room where the press conference was being held she waited for her turn to address the media about Heather's murder. Rick was telling the press about the tragic event which abruptly brought the concert to a halt, although the reporters likely got similar facts from the police, but Arabella was expected to say a few words about Heather and make a statement regarding refunds and the cancellation of the concert that night. While she hated this for her fans, she really was glad she didn't have to perform again as this alter ego which she had grown to hate more and more. Since this was an ongoing investigation, she and the others would need to remain in London for a few more days instead of departing in the morning as previously scheduled. She was perfectly okay with this, she needed to stay and be near Sherlock Holmes while he investigated her case to find out who was threatening her. If she went back to the United States, this person would undoubtedly follow and continue to make her life a living hell. Now she barely trusted anyone around her on her crew, and that was not a comfortable feeling.

Finally she was introduced by Rick and she walked up to the table where he had been sitting and took her seat while he exited. Looking down at the notes before her which Rick drew up for her to use to make her statement, she approved of them all except for one thing, one small thing which was not included but she was very tempted to add even though he hadn't approved it.

"Good morning," she began politely. "As Mr. Barton has already informed you, last night's concert was cut short due to a very tragic event. My good friend, Heather Wallace, was killed. I am deeply saddened by this, and she will be missed. I send my deepest and sincerest condolences to her family. Myself and my crew are working with the police to find out who has committed this horrible crime, and whomever it is, they will be found and brought to justice. I also want to apologize to all of those who were in attendance last night, the fact that you all had to witness what occurred upsets me very much and I cannot tell you how sorry I am that anyone had to see that.

"Due to the fact that the arena is closed off for a full police investigation, I regret to inform all of my fans that the concert scheduled tonight will have to be cancelled. We are hoping to reschedule for a later date, but as of right now there are no concrete plans. I sincerely apologize for this, but circumstances force us to do this. Everyone who purchased tickets for the event will be refunded in full."

At this point Arabella was supposed to wrap up her speech and take maybe a question or two, but this was all planned for her. Sighing a bit she decided to take the situation into her own hands and make another statement, one she wanted to say but might land her in a bit of hot water.

"To all of my fans who attended the performance last night, I want to apologize for the fact that you were all robbed out of a complete show. While we managed to get through the full set but not the encore presentation, it was not everything you expected to see. Having said that, if any of you wish to be refunded as well, that will be honored," she added.

Arabella could feel Rick's icy gaze upon her, stunned and probably angry about this. It was not part of what he wanted her to say to the press, but now that she had made it clear that this extra refund would occur, they would have to uphold her word. And she didn't give a damn.

"All of the information about these refunds will be posted on the band website within the next twenty-four hours. Again, I apologize to all of my fans who attended last night had had to see a horrible crime take place. And to all of those who planned to attend tonight, I apologize for the cancellation. Thank you."

With that Arabella got up from her seat, ignoring any of the questions coming from the reporters there. She was not in any mood to take questions. Leaving the room, Arabella walked past everyone intending to just get back to her hotel and be alone.

"You want to explain to me what the hell _that_ was all about?" Rick snapped as he walked beside her. "Now you're risking any profit we made last night by promising refunds for last night if fans so desired!"

Her blood simmered. "I don't care about the money, Rick. I care about the fact that my friend was murdered and her body was seen by hundreds of people who paid to see me perform, not a dead body plummet to the stage from the catwalks. Besides, if I chose to ignore the fact that my fans spent money and didn't get the encore show they were assured they would get when I took that stage again, it would not look good for my 'public image' as you called it. I want them to have that option to get a refund if they want to."

Rick exhaled deeply in frustration. "Arabella, you shouldn't go and voice your own ideas without consulting me first!"

She cast a very harsh glare at him. "I care about my fans. They witnessed what no one ever should have to last night. I am not going to just ignore that, so I didn't even think to ask you first. It was my decision. So make sure that it happens or else there will be several angry fans."

With that she walked off, leaving Rick stunned but still very irate with her. At that point she really could care less about how her manager felt. All she wanted was to ensure that her fans were repaid if they wanted to be, last night had not been what she considered a complete concert and on top of that they witnessed the result of a tragic murder. That was certainly _not _part of the show. Being generous and allowing them to be refunded seemed right to her, besides she didn't need all of the money they paid. Others might be greedy and hold onto it, but not her.

Heading down the stairs to leave the building and get in her awaiting car, she tried to brush off her anger. More and more she was just ready to just run while she could and escape having to live this double life another minute. It was absolutely driving her mad.

"Arabella," a feminine voice called.

Arabella stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned. A woman approached her, one wearing a designer dress, a coat with a fur lining around the collar, and a black large brimmed hats which seemed like something out of the Ascot scene in _My Fair Lady_. This woman's skin was fairly tanned, her raven black hair gathered back beneath her hat, and her face was adorned with makeup. As she neared her, Arabella could smell an atrocious amount of perfume on her, it had to be an expensive one like Chanel. She wrinkled her nose a bit as this woman stood before her.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

The woman smiled warmly. "Oh my dear, I was hoping you would be able to recognize me, but I guess that was a bit of a long shot."

Recognize? Arabella hadn't seen this woman before in her life, at least she was certain that she hadn't.

"I'm sorry...do I know you?" Arabella asked.

The woman smiled. "Oh you most certainly do indeed my dear, although it has been several years since you last saw me. And let me say, in those long eighteen years, you have grown up to be a very beautiful young woman, just as I knew you would."

Eighteen years. That would mean that the last time she saw this unknown woman was when she was seven years old. Arabella's amber eyes widened slightly, her mind was reeling a bit.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"Arabella, I'm your mother."

* * *

**Hey everyone! I am so sorry for the delay, I wanted to get this posted a few days ago but working on my Star Trek fanfiction and also having a busier week than normal I wasn't able to finish when I wanted to. Hopefully I won't have to make you wait as long for the next chapter. This chapter was a bit of a filler one, but I promise that the next one will be very exciting. Thank you very much to everyone who commented, I always appreciate your feedback, please keep commenting! And thank you to everyone who has favorited and followed this story! :) **


	7. Attacked

_I'm your mother._

Mother.

Arabella's amber eyes stared at the woman before her, this woman who made this claim. Her mouth opened a little to respond, yet no words could come forth. How on earth was she supposed to reply to this?

"Wh-what?" Arabella finally said.

"I am your mother, Camille Wright. Well, that is my maiden name, I am Camille Harrington now."

That name. That_ was_ her mother's name. No one could have possibly known that, not unless they knew her personally. Now her features were becoming very recognizable to her. Oh...this _was _her mother. Hearing her say her new last name, not her father's last name but another man's, that sent a shiver down her spine. She remembered the night when her mother and father had their final argument before she walked out of their lives forever. Her reasons had been extremely shallow and selfish. Her mother had been unhappy being a farmer's wife, wanting a more glamorous life. She had been content having a family with him, but she hated lifting a finger to work even though she had grown up in rural Indiana. Somehow she just decided she despised this life when Arabella was seven. Although her father had tried and pled with her not to leave, it did nothing. Her mother had packed up and left them behind, not looking back. Arabella had always felt as if she had done something wrong to drive her mother away from them, and she felt that way until she was a teenager when she finally realized that her mother had been selfish.

"My darling daughter, what a beautiful woman you have become, and so successful too. It's everything I ever wanted for you," Camille said before pulling out a photograph from her purse, one Arabella had seen before.

She possessed the very same one. One of her and her mother when she was six.

"I am so proud of you," Camille cooed as she placed a hand on Arabella's arm.

Arabella pulled her arm away and glared at her. "Don't touch me," she warned.

A stunned look crossed Camille's face. "Sweetie, what's wrong?"

"Don't call me that," she snapped. "Look, you might be my mother biologically, but I will never refer to you as my mother. The day you walked out that door, leaving me and Dad behind, you were no longer my mother anymore."

Camille now looked as if she had been slapped in the face. "Arabella, be reasonable-"

"Reasonable?" Arabella snapped. "You _left_ us! Dad did everything he could to try and make you happy, but it was never enough! You wanted to have a life of grandeur and money, not live on a 'pathetic farm' where all you were was just a 'simple farmer's wife' and yes I remember you saying those words to him before you packed up and abandoned us! You left behind a seven year old child, your own flesh and blood! For _years_ I was convinced that _I_ was the reason you left, that somehow I had been bad and drove you away, but I learned later on that your selfish ambitions were your reason for leaving!"

"I had to do what was best for me," Camille replied. "I was never happy on that farm, I had dreams and desires, but your father never listened. Did you want a mother who wasn't happy?"

Arabella glared at her. "I wanted my mother!"

Camille gave her a motherly smile and opened her arms to welcome her in an embrace. "But I'm here now, I want you back in my life."

Seeing this Arabella backed away. "You lost your chance. I never forgave you for what you did to us. Dad raised me by himself, and your leaving us depressed him greatly. And I never will forgive you. If you had loved me you would have fought for custody, but you passed me over and just left and apparently married someone with wealth so you could have the life you wanted. And where the hell were you when Dad died? You didn't give a damn then that your daughter was left without a parent, so why should I want to accept you back in my life? Forget about your new ideal life with your daughter being part of it, I never want to see you again. Goodbye, Camille Harrington."

Turning on her heel Arabella stormed out of the building toward her awaiting car, leaving Camille watching after her. Passing members of the press who wanted to try and get a statement from her, she got into the car and watched London pass her by as she was taken back to her hotel. Her heart was racing, her anger beyond boiling after meeting with her long lost mother. Well she was never lost, she ran away from her. To think that after eighteen years without any contact from her that she would suddenly allow her back in as if nothing happened. Never. While Arabella had always been a kind person and always gave people a chance, Camille was an exception. Why should she be willing to accept her mother back into her life if she had abandoned her and married someone else and never gave any thought to the daughter who she had left behind? She had to live her life without her mother's embrace, her advice, or her love. There was no possibility of her being so willing to give Camille a chance to be a part of her life again. During the car ride Arabella felt hot, angered tears gathering in her eyes. Her hands balled into fists clenching the fabric of her pants as she fought to keep herself composed and not allow the tears to fall.

Arriving at the hotel, she immediately went back up to her room. Her anger had swelled to a monumental degree causing the tears which she had been fighting so hard to keep from falling had pooled up to their maximum capacity and had begun to stream down her cheek. Walking at a faster pace when she got off the elevator, she arrived at her room and walked inside slamming the door behind her. Pulling off the jacket she had worn to the conference she tossed it aside onto one of the chairs before collapsing onto her bed and submitting to the hold her emotions had upon her, crying her eyes out.

All the feelings of hurt, anger, sadness and betrayal she felt towards her mother just came back to her as if a floodgate had broken and everything hit her like a tidal wave, torturing her heart and her mind simultaneously. It hurt so much. She never thought she would see her mother again, but seeing how Camille was only interested in her daughter now that she was rich and famous, never caring about her when she was growing up...it felt like she had been stabbed in the back and the knife was slowly twisting. Moreover, seeing how bluntly Camille flaunted how rich she was by wearing all of those expensive items, it made her cringe. That was not the mother she remembered.

How Arabella just wanted to escape this life, disappear from it forever, just do what was needed for her. Unlike her selfish mother, she didn't want to escape this life she led for personal gain. She was living a lie, had been molded by others into someone else, and now her life was being threatened. That was not a way to live. She didn't want wealth and fame, she wanted happiness and to feel content again.

Several minutes passed before she stopped crying. Feeling very exhausted from crying so hard for such a long period of time, she sat up and grabbed a few tissues to dry her red eyes and remove the smudged makeup on her face. Gathering up her strength once more Arabella got off her bed and threw away the tissues before pulling out her phone. She had been wondering why Sherlock had needed Heather's number, maybe something had come out of that. Needing to know how the investigation was going, she sent him a text.

* * *

Sherlock had since left Scotland Yard and was now back at 221B with John. He was still a bit disappointed that the footage from the backstage hallways didn't yield much of a result, but he knew that no matter how careful this person was being somewhere along the line he would slip up and Sherlock would catch it. He had a few theories as to who it might be, but had had no discernible evidence yet. Thankfully the crew was not allowed to leave London yet, he had more time to work with.

"So anything new?" John asked looking up from his newspaper.

Sherlock took off his coat and scarf before sitting down in his chair. "Very little. Heather had received a text from her killer, that was how she was lured up to the catwalks. Video footage from the arena shows her receiving a text as the encore began, then she walked backstage and never emerged again. However her phone was taken and cannot be traced, leading us to a dead end."

John sighed. "What about the message left on the mirror? Anything regarding that?"

"The camera filming that hallway was not working last night, conveniently."

Blinking at that, his friend replied, "You think it was purposely done?"

Placing his hands together beneath his chin Sherlock looked seemingly deep in thought. "It's too convenient. Had that camera been working it would have shown someone going into that dressing room, someone who had no reason to be there. This person is thinking ahead, possibly has been planning this for a while, waiting for Arabella's move which he could counter. Every time she steps out of place by saying or doing something he doesn't want, he threatens her. He wants her to just accept the fact that she cannot escape, to abandon what she desires and simply be her alter ego."

Absorbing everything which his flat mate was telling him made John exhale once with a heavier breath. "That poor woman. But what kind of person would do this? Obviously it would be someone who has something to gain."

Sherlock grinned a bit. "Oh good you follow. That's exactly it, this person wants her to remain the famous singer she has become. If she left it, they would no longer profit from what she is doing, hence why it has to be someone on the crew. Without their main performer, they would be without their job and reaping the benefits."

"Any ideas who it might be?"

"A few come to mind, but nothing yet has pointed in their direction. But something will."

Suddenly his cell phone alarmed.

**Did Heather's number help?**

**~Arabella**

Looking down at the text, Sherlock could see that Arabella was clearly on edge and wanting to know more about the details of the investigation. He had said he would be in touch if he found anything, but she wanted to know sooner rather than later. The fact that she had sent him this text indicated to him that she had to be anxious about something at that moment.

"Arabella, asking about the investigation," Sherlock told John.

John nodded. "She looked very upset this morning during the press conference, I tuned in to listen to what she said. She actually offered refunds for last night's performance as well as the cancelled event tonight. Quite generous if you ask me."

Sherlock rolled his eyes a bit. "She was told to say that I'm sure."

Shaking his head a bit, John had a skeptical look on his face. "I wouldn't be too sure. Yes she had notes in front of her during the time she spoke, but when it came to that part she had paused for a few moments before disregarding them completely and adding on that part about last night's refunds. If you ask me, it seemed as if it was something she wanted to have done and not what she was told to do."

After listening to John, Sherlock typed a message back to his client. He began to wonder if Arabella's generous comment might actually spark another threat. If someone was indeed wanting financial gain from her performing, another refund might get this person annoyed with her. He knew Arabella cared more about her fans than money and fame, she had shown that before. It was refreshing to see a celebrity who was not so shallow and greedy.

**Did not get the result I hoped for. Are you available this morning? There are a few things I wish to discuss with you regarding the case.**

**SH**

**Certainly. I'm at the hotel now, come at any time.**

**~Arabella**

**I will be there in fifteen minutes.**

**SH**

With that Sherlock stood up again to get his coat. John watched him in surprise.

"Where are you going now?"

"I'm going to see Arabella," Sherlock said tying his scarf around his neck. "I need to speak with her."

"Need me to come with?" John asked.

"No, it shouldn't take long," Sherlock replied before he walked out the door.

While there were a few things he did want to ask her, Sherlock had a feeling that another threat might be coming Arabella's way if she had said what John had mentioned. And if that feeling was correct, then Sherlock wanted to be one step ahead of this person and try to catch him in the act. Arabella had been sent threats under her door before, now that she was in her room it could happen again. Picking up his pace, Sherlock quickly moved down the stairs and out onto Baker Street to get a cab.

* * *

Arabella changed out of what she wore that morning into her blue jean capris, ice blue tanktop and a cream colored, short sleeved open cardigan. She was waiting patiently for Sherlock to arrive, but she was indeed a bit on edge still. Sitting in her chair she glanced over at the clock counting down the minutes to the time when he would be arriving, then looked down at the violet suitcase she had by her bed. It was packed with all of her normal clothes rather than what she was expected to wear in public. Not willing to trust anyone anymore, she was always going to have that suitcase ready for any moment when she felt unsafe to the point that she would have to just leave, try to escape Rick and everyone else on her crew. Her patience with all of them was growing very thin, very close to breaking. If she couldn't leave this life by quitting, she would easily want to run away in a heartbeat.

A knock upon her door broke her train of thought, making her jump a little. Looking at the clock again she saw that it had been fifteen minutes exactly, wow Sherlock had good timing. Arabella stood up and walked across the room to the door. Unlocking it she began to open the door to let him in.

But she had been mistaken.

Just as her door began to open, Arabella felt herself shoved backwards hard enough that she stumbled a bit and fell to the floor, a cry of pain escaping her mouth. Looking up she found not Sherlock, but someone dressed head to toe in black, wearing a black ski mask over his face, concealing his identity. Before she could scream, this man was on her, holding her down as he applied a strip of duct tape over her mouth to prevent her screams from being heard. Terrified she fought her attacker, trying to fight him off, but he was far stronger. Arabella had no idea what this man wanted to do to her, but she knew it was not good.

Managing to hold her in place, the man then pulled out a needle, one which he then stuck into her arm and injected her with the liquid which was inside it. Arabella made a muffled cry from the pain of the injection, she tried to fight him off again, but quickly found herself feeling weak. Her limbs didn't move with the strength they had before, she also felt as if her vision was blurring. What had been in that needle?

Seeing that she was weak and unable to struggle, the attacker dragged Arabella away from the door by her wrist. He allowed her to make pathetic attempts to crawl away, knowing she would not get far. He then pulled out a roll of duct tape which he began tearing into pieces, setting it aside he took her two wrists and bound them in front of her. Despite the fact that Arabella's vision and consciousness were weakening, she knew what was happening to her. Inside her heart was racing, afraid of what was going to happen to her. She hoped and prayed that Sherlock would find her and save her.

* * *

Sherlock arrived at the hotel and rode the elevator to Arabella's floor. When he got off it he walked down the hallway toward her room, but something made him pause for one moment. His eyes narrowed when he noticed that her hotel room door was slightly ajar, evident from the light streaming onto the hallway carpet. He knew Arabella was afraid of the person threatening her, she would not be careless to leave her door open. Something was amiss. He moved again, quietly approaching the door. He could not hear anything, that worried him. Slowly looking through the opening of the door he could not immediately see anything. Opening it more he carefully stepped inside, that was when he heard the distinct sound of duct tape being ripped. A surge of energy rushed through him, he knew what was happening.

Fully walking inside he found the sickeningly alarming sight of a strange man binding Arabella's ankles after already binding her wrists and covering her mouth with tape. So it wasn't a threat she was being sent. The game had changed once more. Abduction was her new consequence.

Immediately Sherlock pounced on her attacker, wanting to keep him from getting away. He had caught him in the act and he was not about to let him escape. For the first time he had been there at the right time and now had a suspect there before him. He could not fail.

The attacker shoved Sherlock off of him, but Sherlock recovered quickly. The two then engaged in a hand to hand fight, sending punches toward the other. After a few rounds of this, Sherlock finally took his chance and sent a blow toward the man's face and knocked him out. The masked man now lay on the floor passed out. Moving over to him, Sherlock pulled off the black mask revealing his identity.

Jason.

The other man who worked the lights with that idiot, Todd. Well, now Sherlock had the lead he needed and a suspect which he could question. He was absolutely thrilled by this turn of events, but that thrill was short lived, there was a very important matter he needed to address first, Arabella.

Arabella's vision kept clouding up, distorting horribly before returning to normal for a split second. Her limbs only worked with half the amount of strength as they normally did, a percentage which continued to seemingly decrease. She had never been drunk before, felt hungover yes, but never so drunk that it completely made her incapable of moving. Maybe this was what it felt like. Moving with so little effort being made, she tried to sit up but even that proved to be almost impossible. Her head was spinning, making her fall over again onto her back. While she could not fully grasp what was going on or make sense of her surroundings even though she knew exactly where she was, she knew that she was definitely frightened. It was clear that her attacker had drugged her with something and her limbs were tied, tears were still streaming down her cheeks, scared for her life.

Sherlock rushed to Arabella's side. He could tell from her awkward movements that she had been drugged, also evident from the needle which had been dropped on the floor. Immediately he pulled out his phone and dialed John's number.

"John, phone Lestrade and tell him to get down to the hotel immediately. Arabella was the victim of an attempted abduction and she's been drugged, I'm going to need you to come down here as well," he told him sternly before hanging up not giving John a chance to say anything.

Gently he pulled back the duct tape which kept her mouth from screaming as her attacker fought to keep her under his control. A terrified cry, near shriek escaped her lips when he pulled it away. Sherlock placed a hand on her cheek in a gentle manner to try and calm her down. The fear in her amber eyes was absolutely unmistakable, he knew what it was like to be drugged so he understood exactly what she was going through.

"Shh...it's alright, Arabella. It's going to be okay, I promise," he tried to tell her in a soothing voice, despite the fact that he was not good at consoling a person.

While he normally wouldn't try to console a person, he knew he could not frighten her anymore than she already was and he had to try and keep her calm. For once he had to consider what was happening in her mind at that moment and try to be reassuring while he waited for Lestrade and John to get there. Her eyes rolled back a bit as a very groggy sound came from her lips, she was starting to slip into the slumber which the drug would bring about. Sherlock gently held her face.

"You're going to be alright," he told her. "I'm not going to leave you alone."

Arabella heard his words, at least her ears did but her brain was having a bit of a difficult time processing them so she could fully understand. Fear was dominating her mind, nothing calming was allowed to register for her, no matter how soothing Sherlock's voice was for her. Her eyelids began to feel weighed down as the seconds passed, but before they completely shut and she lost consciousness Arabella managed to finally understand that the person speaking to her and was looking down at her was Sherlock. For one fleeting moment, she managed to feel a sense of relief knowing she was in the hands of someone who would definitely keep her safe.

* * *

**Hey everyone! Managed to get this chapter done sooner than expected so I thought I wouldn't let you guys wait longer than necessary. Now things are getting interesting, and of course there is more in store as Sherlock begins to investigate further. I really hope you guys are still enjoying this story! Thank you to everyone who has commented, please keep reviewing, I really appreciate the feedback! And thank you to everyone who has favorited and followed this story! :) **


	8. Moved to Safety

While Sherlock awaited the arrival of John and Lestrade, he kept a very close eye on Jason to ensure he would not regain consciousness before Lestrade could arrest him. If he made any sudden movement, Sherlock would be on him in an instant and would knock him out once more. There was no possibility that he would allow his new suspect to get away, especially not after what he witnessed. Seeing the young woman who had come to him for help, been threatened, and witnessed her friend's murder, in the hands of this man as he attempted to abduct her, it made his blood boil. Men who did such acts of cruelty to women deserved to be thrown in prison, given severe punishments.

Sherlock had watched as Arabella had lost consciousness. He knew she was not going to wake for a while, several hours really. Leaving her here in this hotel, amongst all of the crew members who were now suspects in this case, was no longer an option. While he had caught Jason, he was not comfortable with the thought of leaving her alone until he knew everything behind this. This led to one thing.

Arabella had to be taken away from here.

Until he had time to question Jason, Arabella needed to be taken somewhere away from the close proximity of the crew and watched over by someone who was trustworthy. Even Arabella didn't trust anyone working her performances, and he certainly didn't. It was clear that he would have to take her to Baker Street until he could figure things out. John would have to watch over her while she slept and worked the drug out of her system.

Looking down upon her unconscious form, his pale green eyes snapped toward the duct tape which had been bound around her ankles and wrists, making her look like a prisoner. It disgusted him, the sight made his eyes narrow a bit. He could not leave her that way. Pulling out a small pocket knife he carried he cut through the tape and did his best to remove the strips carefully not to cause her pain. A groggy, yet somewhat fearful sounding moan escaped her mouth when he removed the tape from her wrists after finishing with her ankles. Halting his actions he looked down at her but she did not open her eyes or awaken fully. Once he had finished with removing the tape he felt a bit better, but he was still disturbed by the fact that this event had taken place. Sentiment was not something he cared for or understood fully, yet he did feel a small ounce of pity for the young woman passed out on the floor. Too much had happened to her in such a short span of time and it seemed it was only bound to continue. Who knew what her emotional state would be when she awoke and they discussed her situation, he just hoped she wouldn't become hysterical and difficult to work with. So far she was a very good client to work with, but the more she dealt with these mal-intended things which were sent her way, she could easily breakdown and no longer be so easy to work with. Sherlock did not want anything more to happen to her, not when it was clear that the person threatening her now was progressing to more extreme methods. If he was to continue investigating this case he needed to keep an eye on her, having her taken by an abductor would do him no good. Hence why he had to take her away.

Soon he heard someone walking in the room, he could tell it was John.

"Sherlock?" John called as he walked inside, his face turning into a shocked visage at the sight of Arabella's body. "My God...how is she?"

Sherlock stood up. "You may examine her for yourself, you're the doctor," he replied. "As I mentioned she was drugged by her attacker who attempted to abduct her. I arrived in time to find our suspect binding her ankles and wrists."

John's eyes glanced towards the other unconscious form in the room. "Jason. So...you think he's the one who threatened her all this time?"

"It is a theory, however I need to question him," he stated.

Just then Lestrade arrived, his own face showing signs of surprise when he entered. "Sherlock, what the hell happened?"

Sherlock gestured towards Jason. "Jason gained entry into this room, he was wearing a ski mask to disguise his face when he attacked her. He proceeded to place duct tape over her mouth to muffle her screams and he drugged her to allow him to bind her limbs and of course make it easier to move an unconscious body than one which would give him a fight."

Lestrade looked down at her. "Is she going to be alright?"

"She'll sleep for a long while, but she will need to be moved elsewhere. I believe I have a place which would be best suited for her to hide for a while, a place outside London."

Sherlock had looked down at Jason and had noticed that the man had moved a little, clearly showing signs of having regained consciousness but faking still being passed out. He was trying to listen in on the conversation as if obtaining the information he would need to eventually find Arabella again. Instead of giving him the true idea he had in mind for Arabella, he gave a false one. He would not allow Jason to have the true information and risk his client's life.

Lestrade looked down at Jason. "Well, I'll have this one taken to Scotland Yard for questioning," he said before slapping a pair of handcuffs on Jason. "I'll have a second car pick him up and then I'll assist you in moving Miss Stevens."

After he made the call it only took minutes before the officers arrived and took Jason into custody.

"Alright then, so where is this place you want to take her?" Lestrade asked.

"Just to Baker Street will suffice," Sherlock said.

John looked at his friend. "What? But you said-"

"I said what I said for Jason to hear. Unbeknownst to you both, Jason regained consciousness while we were talking and was listening in on what we were discussing. I lied to throw him off," he explained.

John and Lestrade exchanged similar looks of surprise before giving in.

"Very well, I'll take you both there," Lestrade said.

Sherlock bent down beside Arabella before he took her in his arms intending to carry her down. Just as he had predicted, carrying her was effortless since she was so light.

"John, bring her suitcase with. Undoubtedly she will need it," he said glancing towards the evidently full suitcase by the bed.

John obeyed and grabbed it before following the other two out of the room. Taking the back stairwell in order to prevent causing a scene, the men managed to get to Lestrade's car without being noticed. Within fifteen minutes they were back at Baker Street, Sherlock advised Lestrade to go to the back of the building to avoid allowing anyone to see them taking an unconscious woman inside.

"I'll be at Scotland Yard within twenty minutes to question Jason," Sherlock told Lestrade.

The Detective Inspector nodded. "See you then."

Lestrade left the two men and drove off. John knocked on Mrs. Hudson's back door so they could enter through that door and get Arabella inside. Within a few moments the door opened, Mrs. Hudson saw the unconscious woman in Sherlock's arms and looked clearly stunned.

"John, Sherlock, what on earth are you doing? Who is that?" she asked.

Sherlock immediately walked inside with Arabella. "My client," he said.

Before Mrs. Hudson could question what he said, John jumped in to explain.

"Her name is Arabella Stevens. Sherlock and I were working on a case for her, but she was drugged and almost abducted so we brought her here to take care of her."

Mrs. Hudson gasped a little in horror. "Oh the poor girl, will she be alright?"

John nodded. "She just needs to sleep it off."

Sherlock ascended the staircase towards his flat with John following. Immediately he took her down the hallway towards his bedroom before lying her down on his bed and placing the covers over her. Placing two fingers over the pulse on her neck he was able to tell that she was going to be fine, the steady pulse which throbbed against his fingers was normal. In a small way it was reassuring for him to know she was safe and she would eventually get over the side effects of the drug.

"Look after her," Sherlock told John. "I doubt we'll be seeing any movement from her until tonight, but someone must stay with her in case."

John nodded. "So you're going to Scotland Yard to question Jason?"

"That is what I said I would do isn't it?" he replied walking past him.

* * *

Twenty minutes later Sherlock arrived at Scotland Yard after taking a cab ride over. During his journey he thought about the questions he intended to ask Jason regarding the role he played in this abduction case, as well as the case Arabella had addressed with him. There was a connection, and Sherlock was intent on making him talk and finding the reasoning behind everything which was happening.

Finding Lestrade, Sherlock was led to the room where they had taken Jason so he could be interrogated.

"Haven't gotten anything out of him yet," Lestrade said. "I tried asking him why he attempted the abduction but he won't speak. Hopefully you'll get something out of him."

Sherlock knew he would be able to. One way or another he would get something out of this man. A young woman's safety depended on it. Lestrade let him into the room where he found Jason sitting at a table with his hands still cuffed. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, watching this young, dark haired man who just stared off into space, a sour look on his face. Stepping over to the chair opposite him Sherlock sat down and looked back at Jason who's eyes now seemed to glare back at him.

"Well, well, Jason," Sherlock began. "Seems your plan was foiled earlier today. Thought you would be able to abduct a young woman and get away with it."

Jason sneered a bit but said nothing.

"And you also thought you would be able to threaten Miss Stevens and force her to remain in this career," Sherlock added on.

This comment made Jason's sneer turn into a smirk, a small chuckle came through his mouth. "Oh you think I had anything to do with those threats sent to her?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "You have just confirmed that you knew about them, threats which warned her of a fatal consequence, although the fatality was not herself but Miss Wallace."

"Maybe so, however you yourself were there last night. How could I possibly have murdered Heather and sent the threat when I was at my post?" Jason challenged.

"There are creative criminals out there, far more than you could imagine."

Jason smirked again. "True, but that's why you won't have to worry about me, Mister Holmes."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed a bit more at this response. "No?"

"No. I did not send those threats, nor did I kill Heather. You caught me trying to kidnap Arabella, but that was all I was sent to do."

Three key words were in that reply. Sent To Do. So there was another person in on this. Sherlock had definitely ruled this as a possibility and a strong one at that, he just needed to know who else.

"You were sent to kidnap Miss Stevens, by whom?" he asked.

Jason shook his head. "You'll never get that out of me."

"Then what is your reason for agreeing to kidnap her?" he demanded.

"Again, I will not tell you," he said leaning forward with a dark look on his face as if he intended to try and appear intimidating. "As I said, I was sent to kidnap her. The threats were not my job, someone else was sent to do that. And another to end Heather's life. How many of us are there you might want to ask? You'll never get that out of me. Whoever you think is behind it all, you're wrong."

Sherlock stared him down. "Am I? And how do you know what I am thinking?"

Jason smirked. "You might have theories as to who it is who is behind all of this, but I can tell you that you're wrong. And no matter where you send Arabella, one of them will find her. She can't hide forever."

How he wanted to force an answer out of Jason, physically making him feel great amounts of pain in order to make him break, but he knew Lestrade would intervene. He also wanted to wipe that smirk off Jason's face with a strong blow to the face from his fist. Sherlock's pale green eyes glared at this man, despising him. His stubbornness and his will were not breaking, clearly he was sworn to secrecy by whomever had sent him to carry out the abduction. And now that he was certain that there were multiple people in on this horrible plot, it was clear to see that Arabella was indeed in greater danger than he thought. She could not be left alone, someone might come and try to get her again.

* * *

Arabella's eyes fluttered a little as she began to wake, rising out of her unconscious state. A small groan escaped her lips as she woke, still feeling a bit dizzy and her body feeling as if it was weighed down. Moving her limbs slightly she noticed how weak they felt, it also alerted her to the fact that her arms and legs could freely move again, as they weren't able to before.

This realization made her eyes suddenly snap wide open. She distinctly remembered being bound by her attacker, her wrists and ankles having been tied. Now she also noticed that she was nowhere she immediately recognized. She was in a large bed, not the one within her hotel room, but one in a bedroom she did not know at all. Arabella sat up suddenly, an action which made her still dizzy head feel uncomfortable for a few moments. She looked around her as her heart pounded like crazy inside her ribcage. Had she been taken by her attacker? Her mind was still in a daze, trying to recall something, anything which would help her understand where she was.

As her breathing became erratic, Arabella cast aside the sheet she was under and quickly got out of the bed but her legs weren't quite ready to function properly again as they collapsed under her. Letting out a startled cry she fell to the floor, she didn't feel hurt by this but she felt very scared. Her body was absolutely vulnerable, making her very weak and unable to fight off any captor. A tear rolled down her cheek, born out of fear and confusion. Where was she?

On the other side of the door, just down the hallway in the kitchen Sherlock sat at the table analyzing a specimen through his microscope. His eyes looked toward the direction of his bedroom when he heard the thump of Arabella's body falling out of bed and her cry.

"Hmm...seems that Arabella is awake now, John," he called into the sitting room.

No answer.

"John?" he called again before looking and discovering that John was no longer there.

Sherlock's brow furrowed. Had John gone out? He tried to think back over the last few hours, trying to recall if John had said anything about going out. Maybe he had. Sighing, he stood up and left his work to check on Arabella. Someone had to. Walking to the bedroom he opened the door to find the young woman on the floor still trying to find a way to move her limbs better.

"I see you've finally awoke," he told her. "It's been several hours since you were brought here, nearly evening now."

At the sound of his voice Arabella's head snapped in his direction. Due to the darkness within the room she only saw Sherlock's silhouette, and her mind didn't recognize it or his voice at first. All she recognized was a male in the room with her. Another startled cry escaped her mouth and she immediately scooted away from him until her back hit the wall. More tears ran down her cheeks, afraid of what he might do to her.

Sherlock's brow furrowed a little at her reaction, seeing her move away suddenly and sort of curl up against the wall like a frightened animal. Soon he saw the tears, his face softened a bit as he understood that she was absolutely confused and frightened. She had been drugged when he found her, so she probably didn't realize that he managed to catch her attacker and bring her to Baker Street to keep her safe. Slowly he entered the room.

"Arabella, it's alright. It's me, Sherlock. You're at Baker Street right now, I brought you here today. Don't worry, the man who attacked you has been taken into custody," he assured her in the calmest voice he could manage.

At first she sank back against the wall when he approached, but when he spoke again her ears detected a voice she recognized finally. Sherlock Holmes. Her trembling ceased and she looked at him and began to recognize his features as he got closer to her. A huge wave of relief swept over her. So she hadn't been abducted by her attacker, Sherlock had saved her. Despite the relief she felt, the tears did not go away. Her body relaxed a bit as she leaned against the wall, but her head bowed a bit as her tears fell.

"How did I get here?" she asked quietly.

Sherlock could see that she now recognized him and was relaxing, a good sign. "I brought you here. I was on my way to your hotel room and I found your attacker binding your limbs. He's been taken into custody by the police. I had called John immediately after knocking the man out telling him to have Lestrade come as well. He brought us here after his men took the attacker off at New Scotland Yard, John and I have been looking after you ever since."

Trying to dismiss her tears she swallowed a bit, but too many things were going on all at once in her brain. She was still experiencing the effects of the drug, and she had been traumatized way too many times in just a short span of time.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You're welcome," he replied.

Arabella wiped her tears away. "You said my attacker was caught. Who was he?"

Sherlock sighed. "Jason."

Her eyes widened as she snapped her head in his direction, completely stunned by this. "Jason?"

"I'm afraid so. But now is not the time to discuss this matter, you're still getting over the side effects of the drug. You're not yet able to stand easily and you are extremely emotional at this time. It would be best if you sleep it off and we will discuss this further in the morning," Sherlock said moving closer to her.

Arabella couldn't believe it. Jason? Why on earth would he do that to her? How could he be that cruel? So many confusing thoughts and questions were spinning through her brain, to the point where it was almost painful. The drug was still in her system, but her fear and her shock was absolutely making how she felt far worse.

"Don't think about it right now," he told her as he bent down and took her hands in his. "Just sleep for now, you're in safe hands right now and you will be looked after."

She did not shudder away from his touch, Arabella felt him lightly pull on her arms and helping her to stand. Her legs worked very hard to stand and keep steady, but she was unable to succeed. As soon as she stood on her feet, she stumbled a bit forcing Sherlock to grab her shoulders as she fell against his chest. She was incredibly weak still and the stress of her situation was draining her as well, it was plain to see. Arabella's cheeks went a bit pink with blush when she realized that she had fallen against Sherlock's body.

"Sorry," she said.

"Don't fret," he said completely ignoring the fact that she had done that as he helped her stand straight once more.

Sherlock wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her snuggly at his side as he brought her back over to the bed, making sure she did not stumble again. He then helped her to sit on the edge of the bed before she allowed herself to fall back against the mattress. Sherlock brought the sheets back over her body once more.

"You'll feel better in the morning," he told her in an assuring manner.

Fighting to stay awake for a little longer, not surrendering to the fatigue which was coming back and trying to drag her back into slumber. Her eyes looked back up at Sherlock.

"Please," she nearly whispered. "Don't make me go back."

Sherlock heard her plea, her voice conveyed her fear of going back to the hotel and near anyone involved in this part of her life she hated so. The woman who had come to him as a client had been traumatized far too much and she could take it no longer. With a gentle gaze he nodded.

"You won't be," he told her. "You're away from all of that, and I intend to ensure your safety."

Swallowing back her emotions she nodded. "Thank you, Mister Holmes."

"Sherlock," he corrected.

Her eyelids lowered more and more, having grown very heavy with fatigue. Hearing him say his first name, she understood that she didn't need to address him so formally anymore.

"Sherlock," she replied.

Within the next moment she fell back asleep, for once she now slept feeling at ease. That hadn't been the case for a very long time.

* * *

**Hey everyone! I hope this chapter was a good one, things will now be changing for Arabella now that Sherlock has moved her from where she could easily be harmed while he continues to investigate. I do plan some for some interesting things to happen in future chapters. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, I really appreciate the feedback, please keep commenting! And thank you to those who favorited and followed this story! :) **


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